


A Necessary Poison

by PrairieDawn



Series: The Importance of Choosing the Right Pediatrician [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Augmentation, Crime against a child (past), F/M, Gaslighting, Jewish Amanda Grayson, Just got real here, Medical Conditions, Serious Illness, Sybok is a six year old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Baby Spock's hybrid physiology catches up with him, precipitating a medical crisis just as Sarek's ex-wife dies and the family bring a new child into the household.





	1. Midnight

Sarek sat bolt upright in bed, startling Amanda a full two seconds before she heard the first thready cry from Spock’s room. “It’s okay, I’ll get him, you have work in the morning,” She told him, resting a hand on his chest to push him gently back down, but the frank fear flooding their bond stopped her. She looked into his unfocused eyes for a moment and ran to the baby’s room, not even bothering to pull a robe on over her naked body.

Spock was pale, sweating, and trying to cry. She scooped him up against her and carried him back to Sarek, tucking him into her husband’s arms. He curled his body around the baby. Amanda threw clothes on, loose pants, light tunic, step into shoes, then returned to her husband’s side in under a minute.

“Sarek, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Hurts.” 

She was catching the edge of it now, a diffuse abdominal pain and with it a feeling she could only describe as wrongness. She hurried to living room to tap the emergency sequence into the comm unit. “Emergency services,” a voice responded in clipped, efficient Vulcan, loud in the midnight stillness.

“My name is Amanda Grayson.” She gave her address and continued. “I need medical aid. My son is in acute distress.”

A click on the line as they were switched to medical services. A new voice responded, this one female. “Age of the child and symptoms?”

“212 days. Pallor, sweating, and acute abdominal pain, severe enough to fully occupy my husband’s attention. I can’t get a complete sentence out of him.”

“Understood. Medical transport will be dispatched to your address.”

“Acknowledged.”

She returned to the bedroom. Sarek was still clutching Spock to him. “Sarek. You need to get dressed. Give me the baby.”

“Of course, my wife.” He made no move to get up. She gave up and collected his shoes, knowing that what he slept in was adequate coverage for an emergency.

“Sarek, turn this way,” A hand on his clothed elbow to turn him toward the edge of the bed. “Put your shoes on.” He stepped into his shoes.

“I am in control now, I believe,” he said, standing. Spock had gone silent. “Spock is very ill. Please call for emergency services.”

“They’re on their way,” she told him.

The aircar settled outside their door. She bustled the two of them into the hands of the two Vulcans who appeared at their door, following close behind. “Spock is a hybrid,” she told them. “You’ll need to pull his records before you give him anything.”

“I see,” one said, while the other tucked Sarek and Spock into the air car without separating the two of them. She took a seat in the front of the aircar and gestured Amanda to sit in front beside her.

“Onset of symptoms?”

“Sudden,” she reported. The aircar rose. She checked her chrono. “Fourteen minutes ago. He awakened my husband.”

“Has he eaten anything unusual?”

“He started solids a week ago. One root, one grain. That’s all.”

“Any existing illness or unusual symptoms?”

She thought about it. “We watch him closely. He was sleepier than usual today, but otherwise, no.” The calm litany of questions was doing a great deal to keep her anxiety in check, though she suspected she might also be running on adrenaline. It would hit her later, she was sure.

The other man spoke from the back. “Severe upper abdominal distress, mild respiratory distress, moderate joint pain. Heart rate slightly depressed. Eyes and fingernails slightly pink. Suspect liver failure.” He paused. “Father is unwilling to relinquish the child at this time. We may need a mind healer.”

“I shall communicate your instructions to the hospital.”

 

They landed moments later. Amanda stepped out of the healers’ way, allowing them to guide Sarek and Spock onto a bed and whisk him inside. She followed. A woman met her at the door with more questions to answer. Sarek and Spock disappeared behind a door, surrounded by robed medical personnel.

The woman left her. After a moment spent sending off a brief message to Spock’s doctors updating them, in case the hospital hadn’t done so already, she found herself with nothing to do.

She waited in the nearly deserted hospital entryway, seated on one of the ubiquitous low stone ledges, her back against a smooth stone wall. No one spoke to her. The clarity brought on by the need to act quickly and efficiently left her by degrees, making space for her mind to wander down speculative paths that did no good for her peace of mind. It was the middle of the night and she had no idea who to call. Her family were literally light years away.

She turned partway, pulled her feet onto the ledge, tucking her robes around herself. The dry air was perfectly still, but held a slight chill. She crossed her arms over her knees, buried her face in them, and cried without shame.


	2. The Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda keeps watch for her ill child.

Nodding off would have been a relief. But Amanda hadn’t nodded off, nor had she moved from her spot curled against one of the curved interior walls of the hospital other than to use the restroom once. The problem with a society of introverts was that there was no socially sanctioned way she knew of to signal to the very occasional passers by that she could stand a little companionship, because virtually all of them would be, if no family member were available, best off enduring crisis alone.

Until they weren’t of course. She wasn’t sure if the lack of updates about her son’s condition was good news or bad. Probably good. The fact that Sarek was gone and that no one had come by to let her know that he was now in some obscurely Vulcan state of sympathetic peril meant he was probably making himself useful.

Two welcome blonde heads strode through the doors at--she checked her chrono--halfway between midnight and morning. The witching hour. They conferred briefly and separated, tall, bearded Lewis Schoenbein turning left to meet a severe Vulcan woman she recognized from her pregnancy. She had been taciturn, but not unkind, and had a reputation for puzzling out and successfully treating rare errors of metabolism.

Impossibly taller, thinner, and decidedly unbearded Thomas veered right, toward Amanda. He looked exactly how one might expect a teenager rousted out of bed on a school night would look, rumple haired, slightly doe eyed, and wearing what he had probably gone to bed in.

“Have they told you anything?” Each asked the other, nearly in unison.

“No,” she said.

“Dad updated me on the ride over. Spock is in liver failure. So far he’s stable on the drug cocktail they’ve given him and they removed a bit of his liver.” She winced, and he held up his thumb, pinching the last knuckle with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. “Just this much, to harvest healthy cells so they can grow him a new one as soon as they figure out what’s wrong. If his liver is too damaged to recover on its own.”

“So they still don’t know.”

“They think he’s reacted to something he ate, but they have to check every component to see which one is poisoning him. With any luck, he’ll just need to eliminate something from his diet.”

“But he’s stable,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“What about Sarek? Is he doing...something...that’s keeping Spock stable or,” she waved her hands to indicate a universe of confusing possibilities.

“Nothing like that. He wouldn’t let go of Spock so the Healers could examine him, so they sedated him. I hear it took enough drugs to knock out a sehlat. He’ll be out for a while.”

“So why are you here?”

“Dad wanted me to make sure you found a place to sleep.”

“I don’t think I could.”

“He also wants me to make sure you do sleep. You don’t want to be exhausted tomorrow.” He waited beside her. She’d half expected him to chivalrously help her up, and he did belatedly offer his arm, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. She took it, but only because she’d been sitting for so long one of her feet had fallen asleep. He waited her to stomp off the pins and needles before leading her through the door his father had entered moments before.

“There’s a family space over here.” He turned into a maze of winding stone corridors and alcoves separated by overlapping walls and curtains rather than by doors. “Here’s an empty one.” There were cushioned chairs, what she would have referred to as a fainting couch if it were of Earth design, with one end raised and padded. She pulled a cushion off a chair and sank onto the couch while Thomas pulled a crocheted blanket out of a cupboard for her.

“So they’re saying he’s out of danger?” she prompted.

Thomas shrugged and looked at the floor. “They’re saying...more like they’re saying that he’ll live through the night. After that...I mean, I only know what they told dad on the way over.”

“When he makes it through this crisis, if he makes it through this crisis, there will probably be another one. And another one after that.” She hugged the pillow. “We considered adoption, but we were told in no uncertain terms that we were not optimal parents for Vulcan children. And a human child? I mean, I chose to live here, but it’s hard. I can’t imagine growing up here as a human.”

Thomas folded his lanky frame into one of the chairs. “I think I’m turning out okay.”

“How old are you anyway, Thomas?”

“Fifteen. We moved here when I was five, but I wasn’t aware of much...I wasn't doing very well then. I don’t remember any home but here.” He looked around the small room, appraising. 

“Sarek wants more children. He has a son, Sybok, who lives at Gol with his mother. He hasn’t seen him in years. I, I don’t think I can do this again. Not all this risk and uncertainty. It wouldn’t be fair to put another child through it, either.”  
“I wonder if that’s why I don’t have any siblings.” Thomas fidgeted, rubbing one thumb along the side of the other hand. 

“Did you ever ask your dad?”

“No. My mother left a few years ago, and I think, no, I’m sure my dad has a thing for T’Zir.”

“And is T’Zir attached?”

“I actually don’t know. If she has a husband, he doesn’t live with her. But it’s not the kind of thing you ask.” 

She thought of how long it had taken Sarek to discuss even the more innocuous aspects of Vulcan reproductive biology with her and nodded. “That’s for sure.”

“You need to sleep.”

Her heart was still somewhere in the hospital, wrapped around a baby she knew they wouldn’t let her see. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Thomas pulled a hypospray out of his pocket. “My dad gave me a sedative to give you.”

“I don’t want to be drugged, in case they need me in a hurry. I’ll be fine. I’ll read a book or something.” She knew she ought to sleep, but she didn’t really want to despite knowing that she would regret it tomorrow if she were a sleepwalking zombie, unable to understand whatever the Healers had to tell her about Spock’s condition. She already felt like the least intelligent person in the room so often.

He put the hypo back in his pocket, then balanced his elbows on his knees as he often did, but this time with his arms tucked in, as if he were uncertain, or protecting himself. “I can put you to sleep, if that’s okay, I mean. I mean, my Dad suggested I just take care of it, but I said you probably wouldn’t want some kid, some human kid I mean...so I made him give me the sedative. So we’d have options.” He pulled at his sleeve. “You can pick. It doesn’t matter to me what you pick, but, I mean I could use the practice, so you’re not putting me out or anything.”

”You babble when you’re nervous.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hard day at the office?”

Thomas sagged. “Some days it’s hard to remember what I’m doing all this for. Vulcans are so smart, but sometimes they’re really good at making other people feel stupid and useless. I mean, I could quit. I could even ask Dad to go back to Earth and not have these people look at me like I’m not good enough, like I’m stealing knowledge I have no right to, like I’m not as real as they are. I could even get into a medical school on Earth, probably. I mean not now, but eventually.”

“They’re trying to grow out of racism, and their culture is so ancient it doesn’t change quickly or easily. And you’re fifteen. You have time.”

He shrugged.

“All right. As a favor to your father. Since you need the practice.” She lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket up over herself.

Thomas knelt on the floor beside the couch. “I know you know the first form breathing exercises. I’ve seen you do them at the office,” he said.

She nodded into her pillow, closed her eyes, and tried to center on her breath. Tried to dismiss the feel of baby weight in her arms and return to the breath. Tiny jade tinged toes. A light touch at her temple, and only at her temple, curiously. Her curiosity dismissed with an amused, “Later. Go to sleep.”

She drifted, barely aware that she was being slowed, chains of thought interrupted, dismissed until later. Sarek had put her to sleep a few times, but...and a feeling of amusement again and a “Shh,” she could hear with her ears. Finally, she allowed herself to fall into welcome darkness, if only for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was a boy who knows he's dealing with a teacher and that "Help me with my homework" will work with them. Almost every time.


	3. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda awakens and seeks out news of her son's condition.

Amanda awoke to daylight filtering in indirectly from above. She slipped back into her shoes, finger combed through her hair, and set off in search of a bathroom and news, immediately managing to get turned around in the labyrinthine family area. And elderly Vulcan woman approached her. She schooled her face into neutrality in order not to give offense. “I arrived here very late last night and do not recall my route. How might I return to the entry area?”

“Walk this way,” the woman said. Her movements were not exactly slow, but were no longer brisk; Amanda estimated she was a couple of centuries old. She followed at a respectable distance until they emerged into the atrium. The woman nodded at her and continued on her own errand. She never learned whether she was patient, staff, or family member, but she hadn’t expected to.

Once freshened up as much as possible, she walked to where she had seen a duty station the night before, unoccupied then due to the late hour. A man stood there, reading data off a screen. “I require information concerning the status of Sarek and Spock,” she told him.

The man nodded acknowledgement, then returned to looking at the screen. In a moment, he said, “I will escort you. Your presence is required.”

Again she silently followed. This person probably did not know why she had been summoned. There was no sense asking him, and Vulcans as a rule did not make small talk. They passed back through the set of doors Thomas had taken her through the night before, then through another set into a much more modern environment, with flat, smooth surfaces instead of the ubiquitous rough stone.

“The Lady Amanda is here,” her escort said. He turned and left.

The person to whom he had been speaking turned and bowed more fluidly. “Lady Amanda,” he said. He was a short, somewhat fair man, for a Vulcan. “Sarek has not yet awakened. He will do so, we expect, in approximately four hours. It was necessary to sedate him heavily. Do not consider his behavior illogical, he was not fully aware of his actions.”

“Spock remains stable. We believe we have determined the cause of his illness, but there are complicating concerns. Humans and Vulcans use slightly different versions of a coenzyme vital to lipid metabolism. Spock requires the human version to complete the metabolic pathway, which is provided in the formula he has been given, but his liver cannot process it, and excess has been building up and causing damage. We believe we can use his cells and yours to produce a healthy chimeric liver that will effectively detoxify the coenzyme, but we have encountered a potential legal concern.”

“And what is that?”

“It requires directly grafting your genetic material into the cells we harvested from Spock.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t see the problem.”

“Here on Vulcan, this is a simple matter, but Earth law is far more restrictive when it comes to intentionally introducing genetic changes into persons. It is unclear whether your son would retain full legal rights on Earth if we were to complete the procedure.”

Amanda stopped to think it through. The hybridization so far had not been accomplished by directly manipulating any specific genes. That restriction had probably been partially responsible for the loss of their two miscarried daughters. However, Spock was now born, alive, and probably qualified for the lifesaving exception, though that couldn’t guarantee his modification wouldn’t be used against him in the future.

“I see what you mean. I consent to the procedure regardless. We will manage any legal concerns later, should they arise.”

“I require a tissue sample from you, preferably functioning liver tissue, that we may examine its function in case other metabolic faults exist. It would be best to repair all at once, rather than piecemeal as they appear.”

“Of course. May I see my son, first?”

“Yes.” She followed him down a hallway and into a small room where her son lay, his limbs slightly swollen and pinkish with the breakdown products of his failing organ. He appeared to be deeply asleep.

“Is he still in pain?” she asked.

“No. That is being seen to at regular intervals. Suffering would deprive him of energy he needs to remain stable.” She reached out a hand toward him. “Do not. It would be unwise to wake him.”

Her hand found its way back to her face, curled into a fist, pressed against her mouth. She took a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford emotion right now, at least not openly displayed emotion. She needed to be seen as someone who could make logical decisions about her child.

“It would be best to take your sample as quickly as possible, so that we may begin growing the new organ.”

“Certainly.”

She followed the Healer out of her son’s room, further down the hallway and into a small treatment room similar to any such room one might find anywhere in the Federation, except for the preference for a sort of peachy gold wall color over the blue or white humans might prefer. “Please remove your clothing, cleanse yourself, and put on the garments provided. The procedure will be brief and will require only local anaesthetic.”

“Understood.” she said. Once he left, she stripped down and stepped into the sonic, her desire to just stand there and let the waves pound the events of the night before out of her warring with a clock in her head estimating how much time she could spend in the shower without appearing to be weak or self indulgent. It was the hardest thing about living here, the constant second guessing of oneself, the constant care that must be taken not to appear to be Vulcan necessarily, but to represent humanity in the best of all possible lights. Although at times it seemed the two goals were one in the same.

She gave herself four minutes, stepped out of the shower, and pulled on the loose gown she had been provided. A package containing toothbrush, hairbrush, and a few other grooming items rested on a small shelf. She spent the rest of the time until he returned working the tangles out of her long hair.

“You are prepared, I see.” He had spoken before she saw him, and she startled slightly at the sound.

“Of course.” How quickly she had cast off the role of concerned mother and picked up the role of patient. She allowed herself to be led without comment to another room very similar to the first, then lay as directed upon it. Another Vulcan, this one a younger female, arrived carrying instruments. They discussed quietly in their native language for a few moments, the combination of their low tone and medical jargon with which she was unfamiliar causing her to miss the meaning of most of what they said.

The woman addressed her. “I will be removing five grams of liver tissue. An electrical interference stimulator will be used to provide local anaesthesia. Please remain still.”

She selected a ring shaped device off the table, adjusted its diameter, and switched it on. It emitted a low hum. She then lay the device high on Amanda’s abdomen, just below the ribcage. It tingled, strongly but not unpleasantly. A moment later, she felt not pain, but a strange and startling pressure, as though someone had poked a finger deep into her abdomen. The pressure released.

“Remain still while the tissue regenerator completes its cycle,” she was told. She wondered if she had moved too much while the sample was being taken. It was difficult to tell. Human doctors generally kept up a patter of information, reassurance, and instruction that made it easy to tell whether one, as a patient, was behaving appropriately. Vulcan Healers kept silence unless they had need to speak.

Another minute passed. She pretended to meditate, though no one would be fooled. “Your clothing has been cleaned and placed at the end of the table. Please press the comm when you are ready to return to the family space.”

Both Healers left her. She dressed quickly, stopping to run a hand over the tiny pink spot on her abdomen, already beginning to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you care: The phenomenon of being poisoned by something that is also vital to your survival is not imaginary. Phenylketonuria was my model here. It's not exactly the same thing as what baby has, but it's somewhat similar.


	4. But It Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek is up and around, and has some unexpected complicating news.

Sarek was awake and asking for her.

Amanda had been sitting in the family area, pretending to catch up on her reading while knowing that she would need to read everything that passed in front of her again if she wanted to retain it. She was supposed to be starting back at the embassy school in a few tendays, teaching Federation Standard writing and literature to a variety of teenagers of different species, but if Spock’s illness stretched out, she might have to delay her return.

She allowed herself to be led to his room. Sarek sat on a mat on the floor in an attitude of meditation, though he immediately acknowledged her when she entered. “It is unfortunate that I was unavailable to assist you, my wife. I have been told of your decision to rebuild Spock’s liver with the aid of your cells, and concur.”

“Are you well?” she asked him.

“I am fully recovered from the sedative I was given, but am informed I will need to see a mind healer within the next week to readjust some minor damage done by our son. He was most insistent that he not be left alone, and is remarkably resourceful for a child his age.” He paused. “Higher level talent runs in my family.” Amanda could detect a hint of pride in his voice.

“And you were worried he wouldn’t have any usable talent at all,” she reminded him.

“I was. I have been informed that test runs of chimeric liver cells are being made now, and that it is hoped that a new liver will be ready to implant within two tendays. Until then, Spock will be on liver dialysis (1) and intravenous nutrition and will need to remain here. The Healers estimate his chances of survival at seventy-eight percent.”

That was a twenty-two percent chance that he would die. Amanda’s chest burned. She tried not to let her anxiety reach her face. “My husband, if you are free to leave, we should find somewhere to take a meal.”

“You are quite correct. Last evening’s activity has left me depleted. Shall we visit the Lebanese Taverna on the square across from the embassy?”

“The one with the excellent baba ganoush?”

“The same.”

The night of worrying had left Amanda slightly queasy. “You make me wish I could work up an appetite.”

“A brisk walk will stimulate the appetite, my wife. We must maintain our own health.” He stood smoothly to walk beside her. A part of her felt that leaving the hospital was in some way a betrayal of the child struggling to survive inside, but Sarek was right. They both needed to eat, and rest, and keep busy. Sitting around in a waiting room, unable even to see their child for more than a few moments for fear of waking him and taxing his system, would do no one any good.

She politely ignored his unsteadiness when he stood. The heat of the day hit her in the face like a wall, but she was familiar with that wall and enjoyed it in much the way she might enjoy stepping into a sauna...as long as the walk was only five minutes or so she would enjoy the warmth soaking into her limbs and baking her face. It would make the light climate control inside the restaurant, a 35 degree Celsius compromise designed to minimize the discomfort of the most frequent customers, feel soft and balmy as a beach.

They deserved a trip to the beach (2) once all this was over. Maybe in a few months, when Spock was up and walking. “Sarek,” she said.

“Yes, Amanda?”

“I was thinking we should plan a trip south to the sea, in a few months. After the turn of the year, perhaps.”

“I expect by then I will be frequently off planet. The High Council has been very patient with the amount of leave I have taken so far. They will not allow me so much latitude forever.”

“Then we’ll go in between trips. Maybe we’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“Perhaps,” Sarek allowed. “I have been meditating upon a matter of considerable concern to me, and which concerns you and our son as well.”

They arrived at the restaurant. He directed her instead around the corner to a sheltered alcove. “I do not wish this matter to become general knowledge until we have made a decision.”

“I see. I am listening,” she said. It was a phrase they had worked out together early in their marriage, shortly after he discovered that she could not multitask as well as he could, but that she nonetheless tried. He had grown tired of speaking on matters of importance to him, only to discover that her thoughts had been elsewhere. And so, logically, before he would discuss anything of critical importance, he expected that she would confirm that he had her full attention.

“T’Rea is dying.”

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond. She had never even met the woman, who had been at Gol for four years now. She knew that her relationship with Sarek had been chilly at best, their union arranged, as was customary, by their parents, but for reasons that were more about eugenics than compatibility. Ah, there was the relevance. “Sybok.”  
“Yes. She suffers from a particularly difficult to treat cancer, which is recurring for the third time. If she were to undergo aggressive treatment, she might live another two years, but her logic leads her to the conclusion that the extra years would not be of value to her or anyone else, and as the cancer has spread to her brain, the integrity of her katra would be at risk. She hence decided to pass her katra to one of the Masters at Gol as soon as she perceives a decline in her mental acuity.”

“How long?”

“She already detects early indications of decline. She requests that I take custody of Sybok. Her family contests. As they were a significant factor in her decision to enter Kolinahr and take Sybok with her to Gol, I believe she is attempting to isolate him from their influence.”

Well, it never rains but it pours. “From what I recall, she wasn’t exactly keen on your influence either. Or mine.”

“Indeed, hence my suspicion that her family must be an exceptionally poor fit for Sybok. The sooner we take custody, the more difficult it will be for her family to intervene.”

“Go today.”

“I should be here for Spock. And for you, should his condition worsen.”

She shook her head. “I have never met your son. But he is a little boy, and whatever his species he needs his father at a time like this. And T’Rea needs not to risk her soul waiting for you to be available. He’s as much your son as Spock, and he needs you. I can look after Spock and ready our home for an additional child.”

“Are you certain?”

She reached for him, rested her palm flat against his cheek, knowing that the light contact would leave no doubt as to her sincerity. “Sarek, I could use the distraction. I’m next to useless here. I can divide my time between the hospital and getting things ready for Sybok at home. Let’s have something to eat, and then you go home and make preparations. Stop back here before you leave for Gol. Is that acceptable?”

“I am,” he caught her hand and brushed his fingers across hers, probably stalling while he searched for the right word, “I am gratified that you are willing to put aside emotion for logic at this time.” Logic indeed. Too many ideas submerged into one word. Duty. Courage. Loyalty. But she merely said, “I have had an excellent teacher. Come, I believe I have developed an appetite for falafel and tabbouleh.” 

A few warm drops spattered her cheeks, not tears, but a rare cloudburst. Within a count of five, it was pouring. They did not exactly run into the restaurant, that would be undignified, but they did stroll briskly. “I believe that I will have the baba ganoush,” he told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Yes, I know we don't do liver dialysis, and yes, it would be a pain in the ass to collect blood at the hepatic portal vein or whatever baby Spock has and return it circulation bypassing his liver, but this is 2230 people and he is also on intravenous nutrition, so he won't be using his digestive system for a bit. Anybody who works in a NICU want to give me any pointers or ideas I'd love to hear them.
> 
> (2) a number of ficwriters have posited the presence of at least one ocean or small sea on Vulcan. It seems reasonable to assume there could be one.


	5. Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda goes home to prepare a room for Sybok.

It was dark when she returned home. The brief storm had washed the dust out of the air and the sky was dense with stars so bright and close she felt like she could rake them out of the sky with her fingers. 

She unlocked the door. It was a shame she had to lock it in the first place. Almost no one ever did, here. But there had been threats. They hadn’t started locking the door when the first anonymous notes had arrived, chiding Sarek’s failure of logic in taking a human wife. They hadn’t started locking the door when the precisely worded notes had suggested that Sarek’s career might suffer for his choices, once she had become visibly pregnant. They hadn’t started locking the door when the subtly mocking condolences arrived, after it was clear she was no longer pregnant the first time. After Spock was born, someone had come into the house while they were gone and left a note in his cradle. That night they started locking the door. 

Sarek had tidied their bedroom before leaving for Gol. All of their hastily cast off clothes had been placed in the ‘fresher and the bed was neatly made. She pulled out her data pad and began to make a list of the things a small boy would be likely to need, starting with his own room. Spock ought to begin crawling soon, and regardless of species, children Sybok’s age tended to collect numerous small items that would be irresistible to a crawling baby.

Their house was bigger than it needed to be by a great deal. They had a large estate in addition to their smaller cottage house on the outskirts of ShiKahr, but even their city dwelling possessed several rooms they had sealed off as unneeded when they moved in. The one down the hall from Spock’s room would be ideal. It was unfortunate she knew so little about Sybok. That he had been the result of an effort to produce a strong talent while solidifying a relationship between two powerful clans she knew. That the effort had produced a child with prodigious gifts, but who was somehow damaged and embarrassing to his mother she also knew, but that could mean anything at all in a culture whose elites demanded perfection from their children.

Sarek would continue that tradition with both boys, she was sure. The most she could hope for was to broaden his definition of perfect a little without undermining him too much. She found that the more she thought of the boys, their future, and their education, the more she was able to convince herself that Spock had a future for her to worry about.

The closed off room had last been used as a workspace of some kind, given the large worktable along one wall, the writing desk, and the cabinet filled with precision tools. Electronics? It could have been a half century or more since it had been opened; the seals on the doors were tight enough to prevent an accumulation of dust. She put a call in for moving assistance on her data pad. Someone would come around in the morning to help her move the largest pieces to another room. The legs on the writing desk could be raised and lowered. She took a few minutes to lower them to a child’s height, then ordered a small chair for delivery. The desk’s drawers were already empty.

Her data pad signalled an incoming message from Sarek, text, not voice.

 

Amanda,

T’Rea has joined our ancestors. Sybok is with me. We will arrive in ShiKahr tomorrow before the evening meal.

Sarek

 

She wrote a note in return.

Sarek,

I have cleared out the room next to Spock’s. A bed will arrive tomorrow for him. I am aware that children his age do not attend formal school--do you anticipate the need to hire a tutor? Also, if he is awake, ask him if there is anything he would like to request for his room. Spock remains as he was, stable but in an induced coma. 

I do not know how to properly ask this. I understand that T’Rea’s death was not unexpected, but Sybok has just lost his mother. I realize you will both consider an emotional response to be inappropriate. Would you advise me on how best to approach this with Sybok?

I await your return.

Amanda

 

That last was the closest she would write to “I miss you” on anything he might read in a public place. She looked around the small, undecorated room and decided to leave it plain for the time being, at least until the furniture moving was completed in the morning. He would need a mat for meditation, that much was certain. Vulcan babies and toddlers played with toys, for all that the language referred to “working with educational tools.” That “play is the work of the child” philosophy had meshed so cleanly with the Montessori approach that the embassy school was run in almost entirely Montessori style through high school. In addition to the children of nonVulcan diplomats, their staffs, and other local aliens, it was attended by a small number of Vulcan children for whom the sudden switch to the high pressure tactics of the learning center at the age of seven was a poor fit, but who were also not well suited to the monastery or the handwork schools that trained farmers and tradesmen.

As she settled into bed to read, after her hourly check of Spock’s status page, she received another message in Golish.

 

Lady Amanda,

I will work to be an excellent and helpful son. I would request an easel and color sticks for my room. I am interested in small animals and babies. I have not ever met a baby. Father says my brother Spock is sick and will be at the hospital for twenty to twenty six days. I wish to visit him in the hospital. I am very clean and I will do what I am told.\

Sybok

 

It was funny how in some ways, Vulcan children seemed older than human children the same age, but in others they were not so different. She was pretty sure Sybok was closer to a kindergarten six in age than a first grade six, but still, his letter was about what she would have expected from a six to eight year old writing on his own. She wrote back, working to find the right words to welcome without seeming too emotional. It was easier given that she was constructing her reply in Golish.

 

Sybok,

I grieve with thee. We will ask the Healers to tell us an appropriate time for you to visit your brother when you arrive. I will find the easel and coloring sticks for you tomorrow. We will go to the gardens in ShiKahr if the weather is fine. There will be children there and some of them may be babies.

Amanda

 

She set her datapad beside the bed and tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so there's a complication I didn't expect to come up. And given that we don't actually know what happens to reboot Sybok, I've got a little leeway with him as well as with reboot Michael later...hmmm.


	6. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda distracts herself from worrying about one son by welcoming, and worrying about, another.

She found the easel and coloring sticks at the embassy school before going on her morning pilgrimage to visit Spock. This time she checked with the woman manning the front kiosk and walked in to peek at her still sedated infant lying in the warming bed in nothing but a diaper. Should she be worried about the developmental time he would miss being hooked up to machines for weeks, unable to do anything but sleep?

She found an empty family room and read for a while, pretending she was being useful just by being at the hospital, making an effort. It was the kind of thing that would be expected of her were she on Earth, making an appearance and staying nearby for most of the day. If she didn’t people would wonder whether she cared. She would wonder about herself if she didn’t visit. As it was, her presence was noted with disapproval by the staff passing by. She could do nothing for his discomfort, he was sedated and if he were not, her presence might prevent him from resting. Updates concerning his condition were sent to her at six hour intervals regardless of her location. Staying at the hospital was illogical.

Late morning brought a notice that her furniture was to be delivered within the hour. She hurried home to meet them. At least she could make herself useful there. The delivery people preceded the furniture removal people of course, so the extra table from Sybok’s room had to rest awkwardly on its side in the sitting room either blocking Sybok’s door or the route to the kitchen. Amanda slid around it to set up the easel, paper, and coloring sticks, which were a sort of hybrid of crayons and oil pastels.

Sarek and Sybok arrived by aircar early. The people who were supposed to take the work table and put it in storage were late. Sarek entered first to greet her in a subdued manner, a nod and a subtle but intentional swish past her, so that their shoulders touched when he passed. 

Sybok waited, solemn faced in the doorway. “You may come in, Sybok,” she told him. “I am Amanda. Come see your room.” He stepped inside, eyes fixed on the sideways furniture. “The table will be going into storage shortly. Just step around it for now.”

He ducked under the table legs and into his room. She followed, sliding past the table legs rather than ducking underneath. He circled the room, testing the bed, sliding onto the small chair in front of the writing desk, tracing a small hand across the smooth white paper on the easel, picking up the case of coloring sticks to run a finger across them, as if counting them or possibly assessing their quality. Finally, he knelt beside the meditation alcove to stroke the fabric of the cushion, then reached into a pocket to retrieve a small obelisk carved with ornate script. He set it next to the candle holder on the shelf.

“It is important that you develop a habit of placing your candle on the shelf when you complete your meditations,” Sarek said from behind her. “Your brother will be crawling soon, and could injure himself with it.”

“Yes, Father,” he said. “Is my assistance required in preparing the meal?” he asked.

Sarek looked to Amanda. “Not today,” she told him. “I will call you to help lay the table when it is time. You may spend your time becoming familiar with the house.”

“May I draw in my room?”

“Of course.” 

Sarek accompanied her to the kitchen, hands folded neatly at his waist in his characteristic pose. “He has comported himself well, though…” The sound of Sybok’s door closing was loud in the still afternoon. Sarek continued. “I perceive that he struggles greatly to control his emotional responses.”

“Does he.” She found that hard to believe from her admittedly brief observation. She turned to remove simple ingredients from the cupboards and cooler, some leafy vegetables, a high protein seed paste, some circles of flat bread.

“He admitted as much when we are traveling here. Apparently it was a subject of much concern to his mother, who reasoned that as her child and mine he should be possessed of excellent control.” 

“Please tell me that isn’t the last thing she said to him,” Amanda said.

“She wished to impart instructions that would guide him in his future studies.” His shoulders dropped slightly, then he added, “She also informed him that she expected him to return to Gol as soon as he is permitted to do so.” He took a seat. “When T'Rea was younger, she experimented with flagrant emotional expression. At the end of her life, she seems to have chosen the opposite path, and expressed regret that she was never able to complete the ritual of Kolinahr herself. She requested that he undergoit immediately, but was informed that Sybok is too young to consent to such at this time.” While he spoke, he observed her selections and gathered a few more items, a dark salty sauce that reminded her somewhat of teriyaki and some slices of fruit.

“I see.” She controlled her own responses while she waited for him to elaborate, not wanting to betray her own increasingly low opinion of T’Rea as a mother. Humans controlled their emotional responses all the time, she mused, always had, it was simply which ones they were expected to control and when that differed.

She had mentioned this to Sarek on more than one occasion. He had been shocked that she felt required on Earth not merely to avoid displaying particular emotions, but was socially required to feign others, especially as a female. She particularly treasured the look on his face the first time a human male dignitary had told her she would look so much nicer if she smiled more. It had been almost...predatory.

Sarek continued, “While I expect exemplary behavior from my children, I believe emotion must be mastered, rather than entirely removed. If the mere existence of emotional response disgusted me, I would never have taken you for a wife.”

“So is he genuinely lacking in emotional control for his age, or did she just have impossible standards?”

Again that slight drop in the shoulder that preceded bad news. “He does struggle, yes. He possesses a powerful empathic talent, with uncommon range, which causes him to suffer not only his own emotions, but also those of anyone nearby. I believe...I believe that it would be wise to discuss his case with T’Zir and Lewis, given that they have experience with the development of a highly gifted child.”

Who are you and where have you taken my husband? she thought, but did not say. “Am I shielding adequately? I can’t really tell,” she did say.

He regarded her briefly. “For the present. I may need to assist you in strengthening them later.” 

“It is time for me to retrieve him to set the table,” Amanda said. “I will of course make an appointment for him, as I would have anyway, but I will mention your concerns.” She left to knock on his door, leaning over the large tipped over worktable to get to it.

She could hear shuffling, then the door opened. “Am I needed?” the boy asked with something like eagerness.

“Yes, I need your help to make the table, Sybok. Take care coming out of the door, the people who were supposed to come take this big worktable still haven’t arrived.”

Once they were in the kitchen, she pointed out the locations of dishes and utensils, taking a moment to remove glasses from a high cabinet he couldn’t reach. He placed each item precisely on the table, eyes fixed on his father. Wary, she thought. It was hard to tell what he was really going to be like, given that she was seeing him tired from a long trip, probably trying as hard to analyze their behavior as she was his, and attempting to suppress whatever feelings he might have about the loss of his mother. He ate neatly, quietly, and sparingly, asking no questions and making no requests.

Dinner finished, he quietly assisted in collecting the dishes to be cleaned. While they worked, the door chimed. Sarek went to answer and found himself occupied in assisting the furniture movers, giving her a few moments to speak with Sybok, who had not even spoken to ask where the soiled dishes were to be placed, but had instead waited and watched, then copied her actions. They retired to the chairs in the sitting room, where Sybok watched the disassembly of the work table with diffident interest.

She would ask the questions, then. “Sybok, I am interested in your schooling and activities at Gol. Could you describe your typical day to me?”

He shifted toward her, hands folded neatly in his lap, as though he were giving a recitation. “I awakened at first light and assisted in the preparation of first meal, then I was instructed to meditate for a time. I then visited my tutors for instruction, then worked in the garden with the adepts until it was time to prepare the late meal. After late meal, I went to my room. If I performed well on my studies, I was permitted to draw or read until it was time to sleep.”

Shikahr tended to be among the most rigidly structured cities for Vulcans, possibly in a deliberate attempt to counter the influence of the aliens who made the homes here in conjunction with the embassy, but children near Sybok’s age were frequently seen playing complex games, conducting experiments, exploring the safer areas of wilderness near town, or otherwise engaging in subdued but clearly recreational activities. Sybok’s childhood had been restricted even by Vulcan standards.

“Were there other children at Gol?”

“No,” he said. “I have not had the opportunity to acquaint myself with other children.”

It occurred to her that if he was expecting perfect logical comportment from other children, they were going to eat him alive. It seemed appropriate, under the circumstances, to discuss his situation with Molly up at the Montessori school before enrolling him, but supervised contact with other children could be potentially beneficial.

“I wish to speak to a colleague about enrolling you in the embassy school until you are old enough to attend the learning center. I wish for you to accompany me tomorrow.”

“Yes, Amanda.”

His very stillness betrayed his growing discomfort. She had seen the behavior in Sarek before, when a social event had gone on too long or been accompanied by too much emotional display, especially conflict. It was almost as if he were dividing his attention, attempting to engage only as much as absolutely necessary while placing the rest of his mind into a meditative holding pattern.

“You may retire to your room if you wish. If you need anything, just ask. I will be here.”

He left as quickly as he could without appearing to run. A message appeared on her data pad. Her mother. “I hear I have acquired another grandson. I have sent a fabrication order to the replication facility on Vulcan. A gift. Please tell him it comes from his Grandma.”

She sent a quick message back, thanking her. The table was finally gone. She found Sarek in the bedroom, reading.

“Did you want to work with me on the shields tonight?” she asked.

“I do not believe that to be wise. I have not slept nor meditated since yesterday, as I was arranging matters for T’Rea and Sybok. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I have work at the embassy. Will you be able to supervise Sybok tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

She and Sarek sat side by side on the bed, immersed in their own work, until Sarek stood to leave. In a moment, he returned. “Sybok is sleeping. I would appreciate spending some time reacquainting myself with you,” he said, absolutely deadpan.

“And I, you,” she replied. She patted the bed beside her, holding out her hand for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two talk like Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. I swear.
> 
> (Observant rereaders will note a minor change in T'Rea's last instructions. When this chapter was written, I had not yet reread the movie novelization and was unaware of her role. I had to reverse engineer a couple of lines for consistency with later chapters in this fic.)


	7. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybok has a less than spectacular first day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are more Sybok-centric than I had imagined.
> 
> Also: It had been far too long since I'd read the novelization of Star Trek V, and I made a couple of minor errors. we shall just assume that as this is the Kelvinverse, for some reason Sybok's mother died when he was six, rather than when he was nineteen. I suspect this may cause some major changes down the line.

It had been four days since Spock had gone into liver failure and two since Sybok had arrived. Sarek had work to attend to at the embassy and was gone for the day, Sybok had been duly dropped off for his first day at the embassy school fairly vibrating with excitement he had struggled and mostly failed to suppress, and she had made her morning pilgrimage to the hospital to visit her still sedated infant. This time they had shown her the tiny, ghostly liver that would be implanted in a couple of weeks, the clear gelatin scaffolding just beginning to be filled in with chimeric cells.

Her thoughts turned to Spock often, but not constantly anymore. She knew he was well cared for, and the healer-in-training responsible for his day to day care was competent, thorough, and remarkably patient with her constant questions. He also updated her every six Standard hours day and night with typical Vulcan precision, which was reassuring.

Her datapad chimed. She felt her chest tighten in response. It had been only three hours since she left the hospital. Something must be wrong. Odd, though, the routing number indicated the hospital, but the extension wasn’t Delsen’s. It was also signalling for voice rather than text, which indicated urgency. She swallowed and took one calming breath before she picked up the line. In her experience, seeming too emotional led to being talked to as if she were a child. “This is Amanda Grayson,” she said once she had herself well in hand.

“This is T’Pral, in emergency services. Your son Sybok has suffered a seizure. Your presence is required as soon as practicable.”

Was his liver failure or the extended sedation causing brain damage? There had been fears that might occur. She needed to get to the hospital quickly, but also arrange for someone to collect Sybok from school. Her brain caught up with her ears and she realized she had gotten ahead of herself, not really listened to T’Pral. “Sybok? He was fine when I dropped him off at school this morning.”

“The seizure appears to have been triggered by conditions in the classroom,” T’Pral noted, disapproval evident in her tone.

“I’ll be there shortly,” she confirmed, then called for a ground car. What could have happened? Had he fallen? Was he allergic to something in the room? Had another child hit him or hugged him? Sarek had impressed upon her that his prodigious telepathic ability made him more fragile in some ways than other Vulcan children his age. She’d discussed the matter with the teacher yesterday, before he started school, but perhaps she hadn’t been clear enough, or Sybok had made a risky choice in an attempt to be accepted. He was only six, after all. Your son Sybok--she wondered if her status as Sarek’s bondmate meant she was automatically his mother in a legal sense, following the death of T’Rea, or if the nurse merely assumed that since she was the emergency contact, she must be the mother.

On her way out the door, she tripped over a box that was left in front of the door. She bent to look at it without picking it up first, still suspicious of strange packages. The sending address was her mother’s. She stopped to pick it up. A large number of small somethings shifted inside it, making a high pitched rustle not unlike a the sound made by a rain stick. “For Sybok. From Grandma Grayson. Welcome to our family.” She set it just inside the door as the groundcar pulled up.

T’Pral was staffing the information kiosk when she arrived. “Lady Amanda,” she acknowledged. “This way.” She was taken through the main hospital doors, but they turned right instead of left, into a different and less modern looking part of the building. They stopped at a small room that was set up more like the family spaces than the pristine asepsis of the hospital proper. Inside, Sybok was slouched on a cushioned chair staring down into a glass of juice.

T’Pral announced her. “Lady Amanda Grayson is here to take you home.” She turned to Amanda. “He should not be in school with offworlders. Their emotional displays are disturbing to him and provide a poor example, and the class sizes are far too large for Vulcan children to endure, especially a child as talented as Sybok.”

“Is it not logical for me to interact with my peers?” Sybok asked. Amanda was surprised at his question. Sybok had made no effort defy or question her since he arrived.

“Those children are not your peers,” T’Pral admonished.

Amanda swallowed annoyance at the casual racism. She would give T’Pral a chance to have her say. Listening to Vulcans discuss medical issues was more an act of reconnaissance than of discourse. “So, would you mind explaining what happened?” Amanda prompted.

“Sybok was exposed to the unfiltered emotions of over twenty children for one point six hours. He neglected to inform his teachers of his distress. His shields failed, and as his mind was being drawn in several directions at once, it shut down as a protective measure,” T’Pral said. “He has suffered no long term injury, but should rest for the remainder of today and meditate for an extra thirty standard minutes prior to retiring for the night.”

“Understood,” Amanda said. “Sarek and I will consider appropriate social and educational accommodations to best promote his growth.” It was fortunate that they were conversing in Golish, rather than Federation Standard. The very construction of the language made it easier to avoid emotional terms T’Pral might find offensive.

“See that you schedule an appointment with your family’s Healer as soon as practical,” T’Pral said. “He or she will be better able to elucidate Sybok’s situation.” She then turned to Sybok. “When you have finished your juice, you may go.” She turned on her heel and left them, already tapping notes into her datapad.  
Sybok, who had been passive, sullenly holding his juice, downed the rest of it in a couple of gulps and hopped out of the chair. “I am ready to go, Lady Amanda.”

They left the room, Sybok following at a distance, still deflated, broken in posture but with his face carefully blank. Just like Sarek, Sybok found his body much harder to school to neutrality than his face. They stopped in the shaded alcove just outside the hospital entry where the ground cars stopped to pick up and drop off passengers. Sybok stepped a little closer. “Is it too far to walk?” he asked.

Amanda sat on the retaining wall so she wouldn’t be looking down on him. “It is several kilometers.” She scrubbed at the beginnings of a headache.

Sybok nodded understanding. He backed up to the retaining wall on his tiptoes, scooted his bottom up onto it, and ended up sitting about two meters away, still scrunched into himself, hands pressed together between his knees.

Amanda called the groundcar. One arrived within a minute, before the awkward silence between her and Sybok had broken. Sybok climbed in first, scooting as close to the window as he could. She slid into the other seat. Sarek had worked with her to improve what passed for her shields, but she was never sure she was doing it correctly. It was like being deaf and trying to sing...or maybe more like being deaf and trying to be silent. She thought she worked through the pattern correctly and was rewarded when Sybok looked back at her momentarily before leaning so close to the window that his nose almost touched it.

They arrived home shortly. Amanda thanked the driver and closed the heavy door for Sybok after he hopped down. The box from her mother was where she left it, just inside the front door. Sybok stopped in front of it, presumably noticing his name printed on the label along with the Golish transliteration of “Grandma Grayson.”

“Who is Grandma Grayson?” he asked.

“My mother,” Amanda explained. “The moment she found out you were coming she declared herself your grandmother. A child can never have too many grandmothers, she said. And she sent you this as a gift.”

“She invites me to be part of her clan?” Sybok’s lips twitched slightly.

“Something like that.”

He reached to pick it up, but hesitated. “May I open it?”

“Yes you may.”

Sybok picked up the box. The pieces inside slid from one end to the other with a tantalizingly familiar sound. After opening the box, he carefully removed a shiny booklet of instructions and a clear, reclosable bag in which several other color coded bags had been placed, each filled with an assortment of tiny plastic bricks in varied shapes and colors. The instructions had been printed in Federation Standard, but most of them were diagrams that required no words. He held up the instruction booklet. “What does this say?”

“Federation Founders Day,” she told him. “It’s a model of the building where the Federation charter was signed.”

He studied the image of the finished model. “It is not very realistic.”

“No. It’s Lego. Lego bricks can be used to make one model, then taken apart to make other models, either by finding instructions on the nets or by inventing them yourself. They’re an Earth…” she stopped herself before saying toy. “Educational activity.”

“How did it arrive from Earth so quickly?”

Amanda failed to stifle her smile. “That is an excellent question. When a person on one planet wants to send something to someone on another planet, and it isn’t something homemade, they have the specifications sent to a fabrication center on the recipient’s planet. The plans to make Lego models come from Earth, but these bricks were made at the fabrication center on the other side of ShiKahr.”

He opened the large bag and took out the bag containing several minifigures. “Are they supposed to be Salak and Jonathan Archer, and Shran, and Thenkom Lann?”

“They are. It’s a symbolic resemblance. All the little humanoid figures are the same size and shape, so you can take them apart and put them together in different combinations.”

“You could put Shran’s legs on Archer’s body?”

“With Lann’s head,” Amanda suggested.

“That is...strange.” His tone seemed torn between amusement and disapproval.

“Would you like to work on it in your room?” She knew Sybok’s time had been tightly scheduled by the adults in his world, and had learned that unless she explicitly told him his time was his own, he would wait in tense silence for instruction.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. “Yes.” He snatched up the bag and instructions and almost ran to his room.

Amanda started cutting vegetables for a stir fry, but Sybok was gone a bare ten minutes before he padded out to where the hallway met the sitting room. “Do you have time to assist me?”

“Of course,” she said. She collected the vegetables she had been slicing into piles and slid them into the cooler, washed her hands, and followed Sybok back to his room.

The bricks were organized into neat piles on his bed, while the instruction book and the first few partially assembled building components had been laid on his writing desk. She perched on the end of the bed, watching him consult the diagrams and search for pieces. He separated a page from the booklet and laid it on the bed next to her. “Would you be willing to assemble the podium?”

She nodded and took the pages from him. After a couple of minutes, she noted, “I am aware that this project is not challenging for you,” she said. “I believe you wish to discuss something with me.”

He kept working for another minute, but finally replied. “Possibly.”

“Sometimes it is easier to speak of difficult things when one has a task to occupy one’s hands,” she prompted.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know.”

“I have failed to meet expectations,” he said flatly. “I was unable to attend school for a single day. You will now be required to supervise me during the day.”

As if Sybok required significant supervision. “I wouldn’t be inconvenienced. But you desired the company of other children. You have failed to meet your own expectations. That can be difficult to accept.” She made sure to keep her eyes and at least some of her attention on hunting down bricks and assembling them correctly rather than focusing entirely on him.

He was silent again for a long while, the only sound the soothing rustle of plastic pieces as they hunted through the piles. Without looking up at her, he said, “What if I am unable to attend the learning center when I am eight?”

She flicked her fingers through a small pile of odd shaped pieces, looking for a pair of gray cylinders with ribbed sides. “Sybok, the embassy school classes are larger than classes at the learning center, and you will be older. I would not concern yourself too much.” 

Sybok worked quietly for a couple of minutes. “Look,” he said. Amanda looked up. He was holding a stretch of curved wall. “This section is complete. I will attach it to the floor.”

“I have ten steps remaining on the podium,” she commented.

He was quiet again. She waited. So much of talking to Vulcans, or to children, came down to patiently waiting for them to speak in their own time. Finally, he said, “I wish to explain what occurred at school, but I do not think you will understand.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Go ahead and try. If I don’t understand, I will tell you, and you can clarify. If I am still confused, I am certain your father will be able to explain when he returns home.”

She completed three more steps on the diagram before Sybok spoke again. “May I ask you an inappropriate question?”

“I won’t promise to answer, but I will promise not to find fault with you for asking.” She waited for Sybok to continue. The only sound was the soft plastic rustle of pieces as they brushed through them.

He remained facing away from her, bent over his building project. “Have you known my father’s mind?”

She stifled a chuckle. “Of course, Sybok. Most recently yesterday. He wished to assist me in improving my mental shields, for your sake.”

“Do you know the moment of…” he used a word she didn’t recognize.

“I don’t know that word, but if you describe it I might be able to figure it out.”

He put down the pieces he was working on and pulled out the small chair to sit facing her, a puzzled look on his face. “It is like...falling. The moment,” he tilted his head to the side and touched his hands together by the fingertips. “The moment touching minds changes from knowing,” here, he used the term for the telepathic sense, “the other person outside you, words and impressions, to them being all around and within you. That moment.”

“I think I do.”

“That moment is when it is easier to be part of another person than to be separate. It’s as if the other person’s mind is downhill, sometimes so much downhill,” here he held one hand flat in front of him, then tilted it sharply downward, “that it is very difficult to stay just one’s own self. My father must touch to reach that place with another person. He is well above average in ability. Most Vulcans must use psi points, and some must always work hard to build a connection. The other mind is always uphill.”

Amanda nodded to encourage him. “Your explanation so far is quite clear. You could be a teacher.”

He blushed jade. “That point for me, where I must try very hard not to fall is,” he paused to stand. He took a step forward, then a half step back and planted his feet. “Here.” He was standing over a meter away from her. “I had never before been in the same room with more than three other people. It was more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“And they were always well trained Vulcan adepts,” she surmised.

He nodded. “I thought I would be able to control myself, but it was too difficult. There were too many people. I had no safe place to go.”

She returned to her assembly task. Her teacher brain wrenched her from a train of thought that might have led to pity, which would be the worst thing he could feel from her, and moved directly into problem solving mode. She told him, “So what we all have to do is figure out two things. First, we need to set up your environment so you can learn and make friends without having to worry about...falling, and second, we have to help you find ways to manage your talent so you don’t have to be so restricted.”

“I made two acquaintances today,” he offered.

“On your first day, I’m impressed. What are their names?”

“Malkie Lorenz and Yun Jin. They showed me how to jump ropes in patterns. It is a game called double dutch.”

“I used to play double dutch at recess when I was a little girl.” She was interrupted by her datapad’s chime. “Just a moment,” she told Sybok. It was the regular update from Spock’s nurse and included a still image of the incubating liver. “Your little brother remains stable,” she told Sybok. “They sent a picture of the liver they are growing for him. Would you like to see?”

He nodded. She set the datapad on the bed for him. He picked it up and regarded the image. “Why is it white?”

“They make a sort of sponge out of gelatin for the cells to grow on, so the liver ends up the right shape and size. Once the cells have filled all the spaces, they eat the gelatin, so all that’s left is the liver.”

“That is cleverly done.”

“It is. Fascinating, even.” She stopped to think. “I know Malkie’s father. Perhaps I could arrange for her to call you tomorrow. You could practice Federation Standard and she could practice Golish.”

“That would be agreeable.”

“An agreeable start, I think. I will also speak to the teacher who did your placement testing to see if we can put together a plan for you. Sitting around at home all day is not going to get you ready to go to the Learning Center in a year and a half. I believe I will give her a call now, to give her some time to generate ideas.”

“If I am unable to attend school, will I have to return to Gol to study with the adepts?”

“Do you want to go back there?”

“No. They disapproved of my mother’s beliefs and of me as well. I want…” he licked his lips. “I want to stay here and learn from you.”

The adepts disapproved of him? In what way? “Take a few minutes to get the bricks off the bed then join me in the kitchen to help with dinner. Your father will be home soon.”

“Yes, Lady Amanda.”

She took her leave of Sybok to return to the kitchen. She would take a walk in the evening, clear her thoughts. They began to run down avenues it would be unfair to subject the child to, and she suspected there was nowhere in the house she could be certain to avoid inflicting them on him. She needed to speak to Sarek as well, about T’Rea and what she and Sybok could have done to earn their disapproval. She had felt Sybok was isolated to the point of neglect before, but she began to wonder whether the adepts at Gol were trying to solve a difficult problem in the only way they knew how. There had to be a better way.


	8. The Impossible Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek and Amanda receive troubling news about Sybok. Spock suffers a serious setback.

Sarek and Amanda sat in the meditation garden outside Healer T’Zir and Doctor Schoenbein’s clinic.  Like many spaces in the alien quarter, it resonated with both Vulcan and alien cultural influences.  In this case, the dominating feature was a Zen garden in which a Vulcan girl of about fourteen worked with a rake, combing artificial ripples into reddish sand accented with dark stones.  When she finished, she perched neatly on the largest stone to regard her handiwork.

Spock’s latest update had been routine and as usual accompanied by an image of his new liver, rapidly darkening as cells grew to fill in the gelatin scaffold.  This afternoon, however, was about Sybok.  Amanda had kept him home for the rest of the week while she researched the possibility of tutors.  She’d had Eli and Malkie over one windy day to make tetrahedral kites, an activity that combined logical reasoning and reward so admirably she was surprised Vulcan educators hadn’t incorporated it into their curriculum.  Several Vulcan families enjoying twilight in the gardens expressed their interest in the kites the children had designed and constructed.

T’Zir and Dr. Schoenbein’s teenage son Tom emerged from the clinic, Sybok trailing behind them.  “Thomas, supervise Sybok in the garden while I discuss my findings with his parents.”

Thomas nodded, then gestured to Sybok.  They sat at the edge of the Zen garden, discussing something or other.  Sybok’s face was unusually animated as he spoke, but he was just a little too far away for Amanda to hear what he said.

“This way,” T’Zir said, and she and Sarek followed.

 

They were led to a small office where each took a chair.  T’ Zir tapped her data pad and a new icon lit up on Amanda’s own.  “I have provided each of you with a brief summary of my findings.  A comprehensive report will be available within two local days, as I wish to consult with colleagues in endocrinology, pre-Reformation history, and justice.”

“Justice?” Amanda said, puzzled and not a little alarmed.

“I have reason to believe Sybok is the victim of a criminal act.”

She felt Sarek’s sharp denial through the bond and shook her own head.  He had only been with them for a week!  Could T’Zir be implying that she was neglectful?  Was the school under suspicion?

“This act was committed before he was born, though some aspects may have extended into his infancy.”

Amanda relaxed out of defensiveness and felt her protective hackles begin to rise.  Sarek’s anger swelled beside her.  In fact, the feeling she was getting from him led her to believe that it might be wisest if she were to do the talking.  Sarek was...sinking.  His face became focused and blank, his rage peaking for a split second before it was locked behind steely controls.

“Do explain what you believe might have been done to Sarek’s...to our son.”

T’Zir began without preamble.  “I attempted to measure Sarek’s psionic field strength on the Federation standard three digit scaling system.  My first attempt was unsuccessful because the measurement tools available were not adequate.  I was required to use benchmark values and extrapolation to arrive at a preliminary value.  On the Federation scaling system Sybok scores a 470, plus or minus 10.”

So?  Amanda already knew his talent was exceptional.  Sarek sat coiled beside her, as though ready to strike once he knew where to aim his wrath.

T’Zir continued.  “This value is implausibly high.  To provide examples; Lady Amanda, your own score as recorded by T’Pau at your prebonding physical is 124, slightly but not significantly above average for a human.  Sarek’s, from his Diplomatic Corps physical, is 300, which is roughly 85th percentile.  Spock’s preliminary value falls between 300 and 350.  We cannot provide greater accuracy because of his age.  Sybok’s score of 470 is roughly seven standard deviations above the mean.  Even given the fat tails on these sorts of statistical distributions, his level of ability would be expected to appear naturally only once in 300 billion Vulcans, far more than have ever lived.”

Amanda waited a moment for all of the numbers to settle.  “So what are you saying?”

“I consulted with the Masters at Gol, who admitted T’Rea professed a number of unusual beliefs but were unwilling to describe them in detail, other than that she rejected the Vulcan commitment to logic and showed an intense interest in pre-Reformation spiritual practices.  On a search of the literature, it appears there are records of individuals living in the pre-Reformation period who had developed abilities that approximate Sybok’s, and that this was accomplished by drug regimens administered to the mother during pregnancy and invasive mental restructuring done to the infant.  In addition, it is noted that these drugs often resulted in progressive and ultimately fatal brain damage to the mother.”

“So someone administered these drugs to T’Rea?”

“Or she administered them to herself.  Given that she is deceased, little can be done to bring her to justice, though if she bears full responsibility for this act, her vrekatra may be broken--that will be the decision of the elders at Gol.  If she has accomplices, they must, however, be found and their motives ascertained before they injure another child.”

“In addition,” T’Zir continued, and here even she paused to take a centering breath.  

What more could there be?  Amanda wondered.  She was trying to stay focused on the information she was being given, but found herself growing restless.  What would this all mean for Sybok?  His talent might be the result of chemical augmentation, but he still existed, not as an abstract illegal entity, but as a real six year old child.

“In addition,” T’Zir repeated, as if aware of Amanda’s distraction, “While Sybok’s mind was consciously cooperative with my examination, he possesses a truly unusual number of lacunae in his memory, especially for a six year old child.  A lacuna,” she explained for Amanda’s benefit, “is an indicator that a memory has been suppressed.  Rarely, traumatic events will cause a child to suppress a memory, but the number of suppressed memories in Sybok’s mind is highly suspicious.  Several of these lacunae were not apparent on first examination, but were extremely subtle, as if deliberate attempts had been made to camouflage them.  The justice division may wish to extract the contents of these lacunae during the course of the investigation.”

“That sounds...traumatic.”

“It may be.  We will need to advocate for Sybok’s needs to balance the needs of the investigation.  It is likely you will both be subjected to intensive questioning as well.”

Sarek finally spoke, his voice low and even.  “T’Rea did not inform me of Sybok’s existence until 200 days ago.  I suspect she began sense signs of illness in herself, or she might not have done so at all.”

Amanda decided it was time to move on, for the moment.  “So, since you are involving planetary law enforcement, there is little more for us to discuss until we are contacted.  How do we help our son succeed?”

“What are your greatest concerns?”

“Sybok needs to be able to interact in social environments.  At this point, he finds groups of people overwhelming.” Amanda paused to think.  “We also need to know his legal status.  Are there any consequences that will be laid upon him because of what others did to him?”

T’Zir pursed her lips very slightly.  “It is possible that he will be exiled upon reaching adulthood.  The social stigma may prevent him from being accepted into schools and may make certain career paths unavailable to him.  Education and employment will be a concern for Spock as well.”

“If the augmentation becomes common knowledge he may not be welcome on Earth, either,” Amanda said.  “But for now, he can continue to live in ShiKahr, with us?”

“Yes.  The issue is social, not legal here.  In terms of his ability to comfortably move through society, he must improve his ability to shield his mind, which is already advanced for his age by necessity.  He must also…” here T’Zir paused to choose her words, “He must also be able to comport himself such that when those shields fail, he causes neither injury to himself nor to others.  This may be the more difficult task, as Vulcan culture revolves around ensuring that one’s shields never fail in public, but that goal may be unrealistic for Sybok.”

So they were going to have to, to use an Earth cliche, think outside the box, hich was not exactly a Vulcan strong suit.  Fortunately, while Sybok’s mother was Vulcan, his mommy was not.  “If the two of you begin a search locally for a tutor who might suit Sybok without sending him back to Gol, because as far as I am concerned they had their shot at him, I will start looking offworld for more creative approaches.”  She was not letting him out of her sight until she found out who decided to use him as their personal science project.

Sarek said, “Thinking outside...I believe my wife wishes to find solutions via lateral thinking, as sometimes unprecedented solutions are required for unprecedented problems.”

T’Zir inclined her head in something just a bit more significant than a nod.  “Exactly, which is why I suggest a temporary solution is a mentorship with another person who has ability far beyond normal for his species and who is eminently capable of lateral thinking.”

“You mean Thomas,” Amanda said.

“Indeed.  He does not have solutions to Sybok’s concerns yet, but he is intelligent and not as averse to experimentation as most Vulcans.  I believe the two of them could benefit from attempting to solve each of their most pressing concerns together.”

“Given Sybok’s mother rejected logic, might association with Thomas encourage him further to do the same?” Sarek said.

“You married a human who did not agree to behave entirely logically, though she makes a credible effort to do so at need, and has, if I may speak freely, found an admirable balance between logic and emotion that reminds me greatly of Lewis.  Do you fear for your sons’ logic as a result of her influence?”

Amanda sucked in her bottom lip at that little mention of Lewis.  It was certainly flattering, but the funnier part to her was her sudden urge to play matchmaker between T’Zir and Lewis Schoenbein.  T’Zir might yet be bonded, she told herself.  She might have misinterpreted that remark.  She wondered as an aside whether her brain’s insistence on entertaining that little tangent was an attempt to give herself time to process the weight of everything else she had just heard.

“Take some time to discuss these matters.  I would like to see Sybok again in three months at the latest to assess his adjustment, but I will communicate with you as soon as I receive information about any investigations.  Most importantly, Sybok has a high opinion of his mother.  We do not know for certain whether she modified him, and if she did, we do not know whether she did so freely or was coerced in some way.  It would be best if he heard our concerns from you rather than from justice, but you will need to proceed with caution.”

T’Zir’s tablet chimed.  “This is a high priority transmission from Dr. Schoenbein.  I must answer.  A moment.”  She glanced down at the tablet, her face going still.  “You are needed at the hospital immediately.  Spock has pneumonia.”

Worry/anger/comfort, the last pushed forward with an effort, poured over her from Sarek over their already wide open bond.  She and Sarek stood in unison to walk briskly out the door.  T’Zir followed.

Sarek quickened his pace to meet Tom and Sybok.  Sybok was dragging the rake a little awkwardly through the Zen garden while Tom offered occasional words of encouragement.  Sybok stopped, half jogged, dragging the rake, which was too large for him, over to Thomas.  Thomas took the rake from him and he ran the rest of the way to Sarek and Amanda.  There he stopped short.  “Father, Lady Amanda,” he said, his expression reflecting Amanda’s worry.

Sarek said, “Your brother has pneumonia.  We are required to attend to him.”

“I wish to accompany you,” Sybok said.

“I can…” Thomas said, but trailed off at a look from the younger boy.

Sybok stared them down.  “I wish to be present with my family.”

“Come,” Sarek said.  He led the way to the space where one waited for ground cars, but instead, an aircar, white with bright green bars, settled onto a space reserved for it.  A woman leaned out of one door.  “Sarek, Amanda, this way.”

She jogged to the aircar along with Sarek and Sybok.  While she managed the mechanical tasks of climbing into the cabin and strapping herself in, checking to see that Sarek had strapped Sybok in properly between his own body and the window...too close for Sybok’s comfort but that would be Sarek’s problem to deal with, not hers, she contemplated the implications of the emergency aircar.

Vulcans were insufficiently sentimental to send an aircar to collect the family of a dying infant too young to properly transfer a katra.  They would also not send an aircar for an emergency that could wait.  Hence, something about Spock’s condition required their immediate attention.  A decision needed to be made, perhaps, but that could be done by datapad.  Puzzlement settled over her worry.

The trip from the clinic to the hospital was so short by air that they were already touching down.  She hopped down to meet up with Sarek and Sybok behind the car, where they were met by someone in medical robes and ushered back through the several sets of double doors into the ward where Spock was being kept.

The Healer kept his report brief.  “Spock has rapidly developed a severe respiratory infection.  He requires antibiotics at dosages too high for the blood detoxification system to clear without causing him cumulative organ damage.  The dosages can be reduced if he is able to maintain a healing trance, but he is clearly far too young to do so.”

“Can someone else guide him?” Sarek said.

“Yes, but they will need to remain with him, in the trance, until the pneumonia resolves.”

“I can do it.”  Sybok’s small, but confident voice piped up from beside his father.

“I will mediate the trance for my son,” Sarek said.

“You have important work to do.  I am otherwise unoccupied,” Sybok argued.

Amanda knelt to look Sybok in the eye.  “I have no doubt you could help your brother, and it is both kind and loyal of you to offer, but you are six, and we cannot risk your health.”

The Healer added, “You have not yet formed a family bond with Spock, while your father has.  Now is not the time to forge a new one.”

Sybok quietly deflated.  

“Come,” the Healer said to Sarek.  “You must change into sanitized clothing while a bed is prepared for you.  Lady Amanda, Sybok, we will continue to provide updates.”

Sarek turned to his son.  “I will not be able to help Amanda take care of our home.  I need you to help.”  

“Yes, Father.”

With that, the two of them were dismissed.  Sarek sent a farewell to her through their bond and, she suspected, projected something to Sybok as well, then the medical staff efficiently bundled him away.

Amanda turned with him to leave the sanitized area.  “Do you know, Sybok, Sarek held on to Spock so tight when he first got sick they had  to sedate him to separate them?”

“He will never care for me so much,” Sybok said.  The two of them were making their way back out of the maze of hospital corridors.  They made their way to one of the family waiting rooms.

“I think he will.  He just doesn’t know you as well yet.”

“Can you know a baby?”

“Absolutely.  But it takes time, just like getting to know an older person.”

Amanda replicated vegetable filled pastries and filled cups with water for each of them.  Telling Sybok about the investigation would have to wait until his father emerged from his healing trance.

Sybok turned a curious eye on her.  “What did T’Zir say about me?  Father was very angry,” he said.

“Yes, he is,” Amanda said carefully, not wanting to lie.  She realized then that any plans to wait would have to be shelved.  She was going to have to tell him everything, and right now, before he picked it up piecemeal from her mind.  She couldn’t shield well enough to stop him, and he couldn’t control his talent enough yet either.  She ate her pastry deliberately, without relish, though it was objectively quite good.  “Your mother did not reject emotion as much as other Vulcans, did she?”

“No.  My mother thought that expression of emotion was of great value.  My teachers at Gol said she was dangerously misled.”

“What do you think about it?” Amanda said.

“Do you wish to lead me to speak against my mother?”  His flash of anger made her wince.  Seeing her reaction, he flinched backward and turned his eyes to the floor, ashamed.

“Sybok, no, I would not do that.  I think the adepts at Gol are a bunch of stuffed shirts, and I suspect your father does as well, to some extent.”

She paused to sip at her water.  “You know I need to talk to you about something important.”

Sybok nodded, frowning.

She forged ahead. “There are some things you need to know, that I need to tell you.  Can you listen to me first, without judging me, your father, your mother, or T’Zir, and save your questions until after, no matter what your emotions make you want to do?”

“I will try.”

“Can you promise you will not harm yourself or me, and you won’t leave this room until we have discussed the matter thoroughly.”

“Yes, I promise.  Am I going to want to?”

“You might.”

He sighed.  “I will sit over here, in case I am too distraught to control myself.”  He arranged himself crosslegged in the corner of the room.

“Very well.”  She composed herself, thought through what she was going to say.  Even across the room, he pulled at her with that fizzy weight at the base of her skull that let her know her emotions and at least some of her surface thoughts wouldn’t be private.

“Your talent is most likely not natural.  T’Zir’s best guess is that your mother took drugs that were intended to increase your telepathic abilities while you were in the womb.  We do not know whether she chose to do so, or whether someone tricked her or forced her.”

He nodded.  “I am  _ Shiav _ ,” he said.  “Chosen by the gods.  I will see them one day in Sha Ka Ree.  Mother told me so.”

She couldn’t help the way the bottom fell out of her hopes that maybe his mother hadn’t been behind his alterations, and she knew Sybok couldn’t help feeling it.   His breath visibly quickened.  “Does your father know about this?”  She knew the answer, but asked anyway, to stall.

Sybok scowled.  “You think she was lying!  Or not in her right mind!  She was, she knew, they spoke to her and told her I would come to visit them.  To set them free!  She said they’re trapped!”  He was screaming into his robes, muffling the sound by jamming his knee into his mouth, the grief so palpable it rolled over her in waves and brought tears to her eyes.

A Vulcan woman, a Healer Amanda did not know, rushed into the room.  “Get that child under control.  He is disturbing many.”  She stepped further into the room, possibly to chastise Sybok for his loss of control.

Amanda moved between Sybok and the Healer.  “I assure you,” she said, coldly, “The cause for his loss of composure was sufficient.  We will be leaving now.  Come, Sybok.”  

When he looked up, his robe was damp and green stained where he had bitten down onto his knee.  He stood and followed, hands balled into fists, until they were out of the building.

She looked for a secluded, and shaded, part of the gardens and gestured for him to sit.  He did so, knees pulled up to his chest, with his chin resting on his knees.  “I do not know why your mother believed what she believed, and I don’t know whether she had good reason to believe it.  I believe perhaps you don’t understand why your father and I are distressed about what happened to you.”

Sybok shook his head.  “Modern Vulcans know nothing of the old gods.  You think they aren’t real.”

“That has exactly nothing to do with it, Sybok.  At least, not for me.  What was done to you, to make you able to find whatever gods these are...they treated you like your purpose was to be a tool for them.  People aren’t tools, they’re people.  Even gods should know that, if they’re gods worth our attention.”

Sybok glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the fluttering mossy plants hanging off the rocks by which they sat.  “Do humans have gods?”

“That’s a very hard question.”  She found herself focusing on the curtain of orange-gold moss as well while she gathered her thoughts.  “My family, my people I should say, still worship a God after a fashion.  It is the habit among some humans to claim their particular God is both undeniably real and the only God out there.  I’m comfortable enough with my ignorance to tell you I don’t know for sure.”

“Mother was sure.  They talked to her when she was young.  Out in space.”

“Did your mother tell you stories about the things the old gods did?”

“Many.”

“Were they good stories?”

“They were interesting stories, with wars and fighting and monsters.”

“Tell you what.  Every day, you may tell me one of the stories she told you.  And I will tell you stories of the God of my people, and we will compare notes.”

Sybok tried on a faint smile.  “Are they interesting stories?”

“With wars and fighting and monsters?  Yes.  I’ll warn you though, sometimes the people in the stories aren’t very nice.  Sometimes God in the stories isn’t very nice.”

“Are they true stories?”

Amanda tapped her datapad to call for a ground car.  “Maybe.  Sybok, I’m afraid I’m getting hot, I think we should go home.”

He looked up at her, putting on what might be mistaken for puppy eyes.  “Can Malkie come over?”

“I’ll call Eli and see.”

They sat on a ledge to wait for the ground car.  “Do you think Spock will get better?”

“I don’t know.  I hope so.  And I have confidence in your father.”

“Do you think I should follow logic like my father, or emotion like my mother?”

Amanda sighed.  “I think...I think it’s a false choice.  Trying to make decisions based solely on emotion can lead to really bad choices, and trying to make decisions based solely on logic is impossible without lying to yourself.  But I do know that learning to master your emotions in the moment is a skill that every person needs to learn regardless of species.”

“Why?”

“Think of it this way.  How do you think I felt when I received the message that Spock was in danger?”

“You were afraid.  And frustrated.  But you were already afraid and angry and...I’m not sure, I can’t always tell you and Father apart.”

She tried to mentally calculate the distance between the Zen garden and T’Zir’s office.  Ten meters?  Fifteen?  It wasn’t relevant, so she let it drop.  “If I had let my emotions dictate my actions at that moment, when I was afraid for your brother and angry for you at the same time, I might have hit someone, or fallen on the floor and cried.  But that wouldn’t have done anybody any good, not me, not you, not Spock.”

“My father had so much anger in his mind.  Is my mother the source of his anger?”

“I think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him later.  I know he will not allow his anger to affect his decisions.  It is not his way.”

Sybok clambered to his feet as the ground car slowed in front of them.  “If you had met my mother, you would have understood.  Father too.  She understood me and loved me.  It is not possible that she could be wrong about anything.”  Something in his voice said that challenging his statement would be a bad idea.

“I wish I had been able to meet her,” she said.  “Let’s go home.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Sybok was augmented is conjecture on my part, but seems plausible given the material in the novelization. I do not know why T'Rea died younger in the Kelvinverse, I blame butterflies, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
> 
> You know, I brought Sybok in early because I wanted big brother, little brother interactions, then after reading the novelization for context, I realized the poor kid has a lot of issues that are going to need to be addressed if he's to grow up okay too--which is going to take a little time.
> 
> I suppose that means Pinwheel will come out right around Autism Awareness month in April, so all good, right?


	9. Transplant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigators visit Amanda in her home, demanding to examine Sybok, while Spock undergoes a liver transplant, aided by his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could begin to be triggering if you suffered any kind of abuse as a child, especially emotional abuse, sexual abuse or gaslighting, though it's not really there enough to tag this chapter.

It was so close to dawn that the bottom of the orange sun still rested on the horizon, and yet there were two Vulcans in rust colored, official robes outside her door. If Sybok hadn’t been such an early riser, she might have still been in bed. As it was, she met them at the door in a loose, lightweight gown, bare feet, and hair pulled back into a hasty, untidy ponytail. Spock was scheduled for transplant surgery in just two hours, Sarek was still in trance with him at the hospital, and Sybok was showing more and more signs of strain, from accidental emotional projection to asking for breakfast and then being unwilling or unable to eat more than a few bites. 

She wasn’t certain what to expect from the justice investigation, really. Enforcement of social mores was handled efficiently, almost too efficiently at times, by clan matriarchs and by the countless unwritten rules that were shoehorned into boxes labeled “logic” and “tradition.” The investigators who had come to her home after she’d found the note in Spock’s cradle months ago were exactly as precise and reserved as any other Vulcan in public. She opened the door. “Amanda Grayson,” she said. “May I assume you’re here to discuss Sybok?”

The shorter of the pair, a slightly chubby man with shorter than usual hair, spoke first. “I am Tevesk. This is T’Bel, the mind healer assigned to this investigation. Is the child Sybok present?” 

“I am Sybok’s stepmother. He is in his room.”

“We are here to collect evidence of the tampering reported by Healer T’Zin.” Tevesk said.

Amanda shook her head. “I will not have him undergo any questioning while his father is absent.”

T’Bel spoke next. “I am informed that Sarek is in the hospital maintaining a healing trance for his infant son.”

“Spock will be undergoing transplant surgery in two hours. I have been told he and Spock will be ready to awaken tomorrow.”

Tevesk stepped forward into her space. She held her ground. “Sarek is prone to...experimentation, where his children are concerned, is he not? The child, Spock, is a Vulcan/human hybrid.”

She had been expecting this line of questioning, dreading it really. It came too close to the soul searching interrogations to which she had subjected herself, lying awake at night while Spock struggled in his hospital bed. “He is. I do not see how the genetic makeup of our son is relevant. We desired children. I am human. It would be impossible for me to conceive and bear a fully Vulcan one.”

Tevesk continued, still standing in the entryway, visible to any neighbors who might pass by. “Indeed. You were willing to allow suffering and death to fulfill this desire. Your child’s current illness stems from his hybrid nature, does it not?”

“It does,” she admitted. There was no sense in lying about the obvious.

“And he was not your first attempt,” he continued.

Was he really going to interrogate her here? She didn’t want to invite him in, but she also did not want to discuss these matters essentially in public. “Come in, please,” she said, finally. The two of them entered, allowing her to close the door behind them. “Shall we retire to the garden?” Amanda suggested, hoping that the little extra distance would keep Sybok from overhearing, or overfeeling, however one might describe it, their conversation. She led them into the small shaded garden she maintained with a combination of native and transplanted Earth species. T’Bel took a seat on a bench at the far end of the garden. 

Tevesk remained standing. “Your son. He is not your first attempt at a child,” he repeated.

“No,” she said. “We lost two pregnancies, one at ten weeks, one a stillbirth at twenty-four. Both daughters.” He had to have known this information. He was trying to provoke her, throw the weak human woman off balance. “Again, this has no bearing on actions taken without my bonded’s knowledge or consent against a child he did not know existed until a few months ago.”

Tevesk pushed forward. “Why do you object to our examining the child in the absence of his father?”

“I should think that would be obvious,” Amanda said. “His mother died ten days ago. We have no idea what she placed in his mind, if indeed she is the one who altered his memory, nor do we know the kind of trauma it is going to cause him when those memories are released.” She sat on the bench across from T’Bel. “I understand the need to find out what was done to him, and to make sure there isn’t any permanent damage, but he’s going to be in great distress when you finish with him and I will not be able to meet his needs without Sarek’s help.”

“The longer we delay, the greater the likelihood that any accomplices T’Rea might have had will escape our reach,” Tevesk countered. “This crime is unprecedented in modern Vulcan history. It is vital that the perpetrators be caught and their methods and motives discovered, in order to prevent the creation of another such tool.”

Amanda stood abruptly to approach Tevesk. “Sybok is not a tool, he is a child. I expect you to remember that. The circumstances of his birth may make his mother a criminal. They do not make him one.”

“The boy’s disposition will await the conclusion of our investigation,” Tevesk said, his voice chill with what she thought might be disgust. A part of Amanda’s mind leapt forward to dark conclusions, and she began formulating plans to, if need be, get Sybok off planet. Her parents might be willing to take him, but could they handle his special needs? She forced her focus back to the moment. 

T’Bel broke in “I am a healer first, an investigator for justice second,” T’Bel said, “and I understand your concern, Lady Amanda.” She turned to address Tevesk. “I believe we should examine Sarek first, to rule out his involvement, at which point he will be free to assist his son.”

“Sarek must be examined as soon as he awakens.” Tevesk crossed the garden to examine the moss roses Amanda had placed on a stone shelf at shoulder height. “The boy is dangerous, even without the risk that he may have programming that could trigger now that he knows he has been found out.”

“He’s six,” Amanda protested.

Quick footsteps approached. Amanda turned her head to see Sybok standing in the doorway. “You were…” he started to say, then silenced himself to stand motionless, eyes fixed on Tevesk, face blanched white.

“T’Bel.” Tevesk prompted.

Amanda interposed herself between the Healer and Sybok. “I am his guardian at present, and I do not consent to this examination.”

“Your consent is not necessary.” Tevesk gestured again to T’Bel. Sybok tensed behind her, his agitation prickling like static electricity down the back of her neck and over her skull.

Amanda planted her feet, crossed her arms, and stared Tevesk down. “We will not leave the house. If you wish, you may leave someone to guard us. But you will not touch Sybok until his father is here.”

“You are correct,” T’Bel said. “I will not. Come, Tevesk, let us go to Gol first, and I will return tomorrow with another member of the team.”

“He will run. He may harm the human,” Tevesk protested.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Amanda said. “Sybok, we are going inside. Tevesk, T’Bel, I wish you success in your investigations. Keep me informed of your findings.” She turned her back on them and guided Sybok back into the house.

Amanda didn’t let herself breathe until they were gone. She didn’t let herself sit until they had been gone for an hour. She sent off a message to T’Zir, and one to Thomas, though she did not expect the teenager to answer until after school hours, then she sat on one end of the couch pretending to read. 

Sybok curled in a chair across the room, a datapad resting on his knees, watching his baby brother’s surgery in real time with the rapt attention of a child not yet old enough to fear the implications of what he saw. She, on the other hand, could not bear to look. After a couple of attempts to fascinate her with the removal and replacement of Spock’s internal organs, he had fallen silent, and in turn she hadn’t shamed him for his curiosity. She wasn’t sure exactly when she realized he was watching his father as much as his brother.

She broke the silence. “How are they doing?” 

“They’re attaching the blood vessels. Spock’s liver is all green now, that means it has blood in it.” He held up the datapad, which was, fortunately, too far away for her to make out any details.

“Are you hungry? I’m dishing up Israeli salad, hummus, and sliced yonsava.” She slid off the couch, stretching the stiffness out of her legs and back as she realized how long she had been sitting and how tense the muscles were.

Sybok followed her to the kitchen navigating by peripheral vision, unwilling to take his eyes off the screen. He scooted up onto a stool to rest his datapad on the table.

“You will have to move the pad while you eat, Sybok. I don’t want to have to wash it.” She turned to the refrigerator to pull out the lunch things, collected plates and utensils from the high cabinets. She needed to make some time to clear a low cabinet so that some things might be placed in Sybok’s reach--last night he had climbed onto the table to reach the plates and had nearly flipped it over onto himself.

“I am tidy,” he replied, voice flat and distracted.

“It is rude to use a datapad while eating with others.” She set out the plates, the bowl of Israeli salad, the cup of garlic hummus, and the thick orange slices of yonsava.

Sybok made to hop down off the stool. “Then I am not hungry.”

“I’ll be needing the datapad, now, Sybok,” she said firmly. Her mind skipped ahead to what she’d need to do next if he refused, threw a fit, ran away...it was so hard to tell what he might do. But she found she couldn’t look away from his dark eyes.

“But I need it,” he said, quietly.

She ran her fingers through her hair to dispel the feeling that the top of her head was floating off and put equal parts steel and ice into her words. “You try that snake charmer shit on me, young man, you will spend the evening in your room without your datapad. And I will discuss this with your father.” His mind slammed shut with a thunk that was almost audible. He pushed the pad across the table in her direction with the tips of his fingers and stared at his empty plate, cheeks flushed jade.

“You may take as much as you like,” she said more gently. She sat down at the table across from him, dished up a small serving, as much as she felt like she could eat; she was no more hungry than he was, but her body needed food even if her nervous brain didn’t think it had the spare capacity to digest it.

Sybok took one scoop of salad and one small dollop of hummus. He ate dutifully, without relish, but it was difficult to tell whether that was because she had corrected him, because of the tension around the investigators’ visit, or because he was as worried as she was about Spock’s surgery. She had so many things to worry about her mind flitted from one to the next without resting, and she supposed that in itself could be enough to unsettle him. Once he was finished, he carried his plate to the cleaning sonic and returned to his chair without the data pad.

She finished a moment later, cleaned the plates, and carried the pad to his chair. She squatted down until she was eye to eye...or at least, eye to the side of his head. “Sybok,”

“Yes,” he said, small voiced. He didn’t turn to look at her.

“I need to know that my choices are mine,” she said. “Do you understand?”

He was silent for over a minute, running the hem of his sleeve between his fingers. “I regret my actions. I will stay away from your mind.”

She shook her head. “Almost there, not quite.” She didn’t want him to be more ashamed of himself than he already was. “You can share without taking advantage. It’s trying to push me into letting you have your way I object to.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure he believed her. “Mother said, sometimes you have to help people make the right decisions. Follow the right causes. To save them.”

“Letting you have the datapad at the table was not in my best interest,” Amanda said. “Would you want to believe or do something because somebody made you think you wanted to?”

His forehead wrinkled, but he was quiet, so quiet she could hear him breathe. “May I have the data pad back now?” She nodded and passed it to him. He stared at the image on the screen. They were running the dermal regenerator over Spock’s abdomen. Sarek’s tense, asleep but not asleep face was visible at that moment, in the space between the surgeons. They had placed him head to head with Spock, rather than beside him, presumably to give themselves room to work. Softly, Sybok said, “What if somebody makes you believe what’s true, so you won’t forget?”

Amanda had no answer for that. At least, she had no answer that was both true and would not hurt him. She stood and walked back to the kitchen to put a little physical distance between them. Sybok’s mother was gone, little more than a ghost in a box, unreachable by a little boy. And soon, for his own good and the good of other children who might not even be born, his good memories of her would be corrupted by the investigation into whatever she had hidden in his mind, and there wasn’t a thing Amanda could do about it. There was no such thing as a mother transplant.

Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are, as always, more than welcome. My tumblr is https://www.tumblr.com/blog/prairiedawn in case you want to chat.


	10. The Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek returns home, having been cleared of wrongdoing. T'Pau arrives to direct the examination of Sybok because the representatives from justice are a bunch of ham handed nincompoops (not that she would use those words.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's some kid trauma and a description of some fairly nasty gaslighting in this chapter, in case that's an issue for you.

Amanda expected the morning’s first visitors to be Sarek, possibly along with Tevesk and T’Bel.  She had arisen early in anticipation, not wanting to be caught unprepared this time, and made breakfast for herself and Sybok, which he did not eat, though he had eventually been convinced to sip a smoothie she had concocted from his favorite fruits.

It was barely past dawn.  The house was tidy.  Sybok was hiding in his room not meditating, which meant he was sitting on his meditation mat with the candle lit and his eyes closed, but his breathing was too fast, he flinched every time she walked past his door, and his fear was so thick and palpable that she could imagine it pouring out the door of his room like a toxic blue-black cloud.

She opened the front door to see instead T’Pau, alone.  “I told you I would come,” she said.

“Matriarch,” Amanda said.  She was uncertain what else she could say.  

Amanda had written late last night, asking only for advice in navigating the unfamiliar justice system.  Ten minutes later, she had received the curt reply, “I am coming,” then nothing else, despite sending several follow up messages.  T’Pau must have set aside her other business immediately to come so quickly.  

“Where is the child Sybok?”

“I will retrieve him.  Do you require refreshment after your travels?”  Amanda crossed the room to enter the kitchen.  A part of her was relieved that T’Pau had come, but she realized she wasn’t actually certain what side the clan matriarch would be on.  Every time she thought she understood Vulcan culture she discovered that her knowledge had been shallow where it wasn’t entirely lacking.  She could not imagine T’Pau would be in favor of augmenting a child to set him off in search of some ancient god, and she could believe even less that she would approve of flagrant emotionality.  But on the other side, it was difficult to be certain whether she would value the life and health of one child over the need to maintain the status of her clan, should those goals conflict.

“Tea,” T’Pau replied.

Amanda set the tea to steeping, then entered Sybok’s room.  Sybok’s eyes flew open.  Amanda studiously ignored the sudden burning low in her chest.  “The matriarch wishes to visit with you.”

“Is Father home?”  Sybok stood quickly to straighten his robes.

“No, not yet.”  She made space for Sybok to pass through the door frame without accidentally touching her.

They approached T’Pau, who had taken a seat on the couch.  Sybok stood rod straight in front of her, trying to keep his face neutral, his hands clasped behind his back to disguise their shaking.

She was uncertain of the protocol for making requests of a woman whose social standing was so far above hers, but decided the difference itself meant that she couldn’t fall much farther, so she said, firmly, “I will bring the tea.  Please refrain from questioning Sarek’s and my son until I return.”

T’Pau said nothing in response.  Amanda returned to the kitchen to collect the tray laden with three cups of tea, moving as quickly as she could without sacrificing grace.  Sybok was still standing a little less than a meter from the matriarch, eyes fixed on the jewelry at her throat.  As soon as Amanda set the tray down, T’Pau lifted a cup, sipped from it, and nodded approval.  “It is apparent that you have formed a family bond with Amanda, Sybok.  Are you finding your new home acceptable?”

Sybok didn’t answer right away.  “Yes, T’Pau,” he said, still clearly unsure of where to look.

“And you do not wish to return to Gol.”

“No!  I mean, I prefer to stay here with my family, Matriarch.”

T’Pau nodded acknowledgement.  “Sit, both of you.  I prefer not to look up at you.”  Amanda took a seat in the chair Sybok usually curled up in to read or draw.  Sybok perched at the far end of the couch as though he were waiting for a chance to flee to his room.  T’Pau continued.  “I was visited yesterday and examined to determine if I had a role in the crimes that may have been committed against Sybok,” she said.  “The examination was both inadequate and disrespectful.  If I had been hiding anything, it would have taken little effort to keep it concealed.  The individual who examined me will not touch this child.”

“Was it T’Bel?” Amanda asked.

“No.  It was a T’Vres.  Sybok, you understand that an examination and redaction will be necessary to ensure that this criminal element is found and to ensure you do not suffer permanent damage.”

Sybok said nothing, possibly because even a bright, Vulcan six year old wasn’t up to figuring out what T’Pau said.

Amanda clarified for him.  “We have to find out what’s been hidden in your mind, because it might hurt you later.”

“I know.”  His tone was just slightly petulant.

T’Pau’s lips pressed together slightly, possibly reacting to Sybok’s attitude.  “May I have your thoughts, child?”

Sybok chewed his bottom lip.  “No.”

Amanda could hear the testing in his voice, and wondered if T’Pau realized he had just told her no to see if he really had a choice.

T’Pau regarded him.  “Very well.  We shall await your father.”

Sybok’s eyes grew wide.  He sagged back visibly into the chair, his surprise and relief evident.  After a moment, he scooted forward to take his own cup of tea and sip it.  “Are you staying?”

“For as long as I am needed, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I have gifts which I have honed through study and practice which may aid you.  Because I am the matriarch of my clan, and what happens to even the smallest child of my clan concerns me.  Because I am old, and that grants wisdom, if one spends ones life seeking it.”

Sybok regarded her without speaking for some minutes, the teacup held to his lips.  He didn’t set the cup down until his tea was gone.  Amanda knew better than to break the silence by talking or moving.  He set the cup down.  It clattered a little on the tray.

The door chime announced more visitors.  Sybok flinched.

Amanda rose to answer the door.  As expected, three Vulcans stood there, Tevesk and T’Bel with Sarek, who stepped into the house first.  “Amanda,” he said, reaching out two fingers to caress hers.  “It is gratifying to see you.  Spock will remain at the hospital until tomorrow, when he will be fit to come home.”  

Amanda wouldn’t embarrass Sarek by embracing him in front of guests, but she did stand close enough for their bodies to incidentally touch.  “And you, are you well?”

Sarek tilted his head toward her.  “As well as can be expected.”

Tevesk’s brand of expressionlessness managed to look as sour as it had yesterday.  “Sarek has been cleared of wrongdoing.  He is available to assist us in the examination of the child.”

At that, T’Pau stood and turned toward the investigators.  “I will probe the child, not you.”

“You have neither jurisdiction nor experience in these matters,” Tevesk protested.

“I was of the impression that the situation in which we have found ourselves is all but unprecedented.  Hence, you lack relevant experience as well.  Amanda, bring sufficient seating for all of us.  Tevesk, you will operate the recording device.  And you, you must be T’Bel.”

“That is correct.”

T’Pau gestured to a chair.  T’Bel sat.  “Monitor our biological functions.  Have you any experience with humans?”

“Not firsthand.”

Amanda volunteered, “The first signs of distress in humans in an extended meld are a rise in body temperature and a drop in blood sugar.  You may need to administer glucose.”

At T’Bel’s surprised expression, Amanda said, “I’m sure you’re all capable of basic arithmetic.  And I’ll just say one of us had to have the presence of mind to stock up on sports drinks and cookies.”  And that was all she planned to say about that in front of Sybok. But it was still sufficient to earn her an affronted look from Sarek.  She quirked an eyebrow at him, mirroring a gesture of his just to tease him.  Gallows humor.

T’Pau addressed Sybok next.  “Make no mistake, if my suspicions are correct, we are going into battle.  Are you prepared to fight?”

Sybok swallowed.  “I will do what is required of me.”

“Sarek, Amanda, open your bond and be prepared to join the meld at need.”  As Sarek’s mind flowed into Amanda’s, she mentally leaned into him as into an embrace.  It had been too long since they had been together.  Sarek took a moment to reassure her of Spock’s condition before assisting her in establishing an attitude of controlled, watchful waiting.

While she knew, intellectually, that Sybok’s powerful talent rendered the use of psi points more or less superfluous, she had expected T’Pau to hold to tradition.  Instead, the space filled with a tense, electric stillness while the matriarch sat quietly, eyes closed, hands folded in her lap, and Sybok’s face grew startled, then blank.

She couldn’t actually perceive whatever it was T’Pau was doing.  At first, Sybok seemed to slowly relax.  His eyes drifted closed and after a moment he dropped back against the cushions as if asleep.  Amanda allowed herself a moment’s peace, resting with her back pressed against Sarek’s chest.   _ I missed you too _ , he acknowledged silently.

T’Pau blinked once, then spoke aloud.  “I concur in the Healer’s initial assessment.  There are numerous intentionally blocked memory traces.  I will be examining each and will provide a report to you, Tevesk, at the conclusion.  It may be possible to resuppress any particularly traumatic traces, but I will not know until I assess each one.  There is an additional area of concern, a bond whose nature I cannot easily discern.  I will attempt to ascertain its nature after I have assessed the other traces.  Know that once I begin, I cannot and will not stop except to preserve the boy’s life.”

“Understood,” Sarek said.  Can you maintain control, Amanda?

She tried to project a certainty she didn’t feel, and he wrapped himself more tightly around her, even physically, arms coming about to wrap around her shoulders--she was surprised he was willing to be so demonstrative in front of two near strangers and the woman who was not his mother, but might as well have been during the hazardous years of his early childhood.

“Proceed.”  Sarek said.

“You will be called when you are needed.”  T’Pau went still again.

For a few minutes, this second meld was no more distressing than the first, but all at once, it changed.  Amanda saw the distress on Sybok’s face first, his eyes squeezed shut tight, his lips pressed flat against the teeth.  Sarek must be shielding her, she thought.  She wanted to pull him away into her arms.  The first “no” was whispered.  The second, a harsh cry.  Sybok began to moan the word, over and over, thrashing in place like a child in a night terror.

Amanda tried to wrench herself out of Sarek’s arms to protect Sybok, but he held her fast.  He resettled her body against one shoulder to free one hand, rested two fingers at the back of T’Pau’s wrist, received a nearly imperceptible nod.  His hand dropped over his son’s face.

Amanda dropped straight out of her body and freefell into a memory.  Sybok, perhaps a year younger than his current age, was holding the dead body of some small furred creature, a pamsi, she thought, a guinea pig sized creature children sometimes invited into their homes as temporary companions between the animals’ breeding seasons.  “I know I brought her inside,” he insisted to his mother.  Finally, he collapsed to the floor, the little animal rolling out of his arms and into the dust.  “I cannot trust my own mind.”

The flood of remembered reassurance from T’Rea produced a compelling contrast.  She drew the guilt out of his mind after having focused his attention on it, and at the same moment, drew what looked to Amanda like a line of light, binding the two of them together.  “You see,” she said, “you couldn’t have helped it.  You are yet young, and will develop the memory of a proper Vulcan in time.”

The six year old Sybok she knew stood off to the side, hand in hand with T’Pau.  “She used your pain to bind you to her, to ensure your loyalty,” the matriarch said.

The memory shifted.  “And this suppressed memory occurs ten days before.”  This image was brief, simply the image of Sybok carefully scooping the pamsi into its box as the cool twilight gave way to the night’s cold and placing it on the floor beside his bed.

Sybok turned to T’Pau.  “I did bring her in.  I did not forget.  Someone must have taken her back outside and left her to die of the cold.”  T’Pau did not belabor the revelation, but allowed him to draw his own conclusions.

The room faded, leaving a landscape much less grounded in the real.  T’Pau still dominated, a puckering of space that commanded the attention.  Sarek was a firm, supporting stillness wrapped around her.  Sybok floated, bewildered and brilliant, like a frightened star.  Amanda clumsily drew toward him and he accepted her embrace, along with his father’s.

Now, the real battle, T’Pau intoned, words heard, seen, felt.  Their attention turned to a knotted space, a bond, the information fed to Amanda.  It was curled in on itself, near invisible amid the  background of other bonds.  Amanda and Sarek held Sybok steady, while T’Pau surrounded and delicately probed at the bond.

It pulsed beneath her, then suddenly broke wide open and shrieked into all of their minds, deadly bright.  Sarek grabbed Amanda and threw her, both mentally and bodily out of the meld.  She landed hard against the wall, pain blossoming behind her eyes, then turned and vomited, either from the attack itself or disorientation, she wasn’t sure.  Once she caught her breath, she wiped her mouth, braced her hand on the wall and hauled herself to her feet.  T’Pau had gathered Sybok into her arms and had one hand braced across his face, while Sarek was sprawled awkwardly across the couch, face unnaturally white.  T’Bel stood over all three, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

Amanda counted to ten, slowly, unable to take her eyes off her husband’s still form.  At last, he drew one deep, shuddering breath and opened his eyes.  Amanda approached him.

“No,” T’Bel warned.  “Not yet.”

Amanda pressed her knuckles against her teeth for a moment until she regained her composure, then hobbled unsteadily across the room to the kitchen to get a cleaning cloth for the floor.  While she was gone, Sarek curled himself into a fetal position at the end of the couch.  “May I go to him now?” she asked T’Bel.

“No, I am uncertain what T’Pau has encountered.  I suggest you wait until she is able to speak to us.”

Amanda stifled an impatient sigh and set to work wiping up the floor.  It was only three minutes, perhaps four, before T’Pau opened her eyes, surveyed the room, and said, “Lady Amanda, please take the child to his room.  He is deeply unconscious and will not awaken for some time.”

She allowed the older woman to pass Sybok to her, then carried him into his room and tucked him into bed.  By the time she returned, T’Pau had turned her attention to Sarek.  Amanda had been dreading all of this since T’Zir had told them both of her discovery.  She hoped that the worst was over.

T’Pau released Amanda’s husband and composed herself, then spoke.  “The child’s mother was bound to a being I had thought lost to myth and deep time.  She in turn bound the child to it.”

“What sort of a being?”  Amanda returned to the chair she had been sitting in before.  Her foggy brain was no excuse not to pay attention to T’Pau’s debriefing, which was likely to be given only once.

“Vulcans abandoned the worship of the old gods not because they were fictitious, but because they were unworthy.  I do not know which of these creatures has taken hold of Sybok, and in truth it matters little.  Our legends say that there was a war between the gods, and that the worst of them were locked away somewhere among the stars.”

T’Pau looked down at Sarek where he lay unconscious, sprawled across the couch.  “When I disturbed the bond, the entity reached through it in an effort to kill me, Sarek, and you.  Your husband let his own defense suffer in order to divert attention to throwing you clear; if he had not done so you would likely have died.”

“Will Sarek be alright?”

“He is stable, but will need further assistance shortly, which I will provide.  At present I require sustenance.”

“Of course,” Amanda said.

She returned to the kitchen to quickly assemble a plate of bread and fruit, along with more tea.  T’Pau received it gratefully.  “I was not able to break the bond with the entity.”

Amanda nodded.  “So, what are our next steps?”

“I will provide a complete report of my observations to justice.  My observations implicate not only T’Rea but at least two other members of her family who discussed their plans to use Sybok to locate this entity in his presence.  My recommendation will be to immediately examine and destroy the katra of T’Rea, given the nature of her crimes and the need to prevent the entity from infecting the repository at Gol.”

“And what about Sybok?”  She felt herself tense again, in spite of her tiredness, readying herself to defend Sybok the way she had needed to defend Spock some months ago.

“It is likely no Vulcan healer will be able to free Sybok from the entity without killing him.  Left to itself, the bond will fester, causing damage to his psyche.  I believe there may be ways to sequester it in his mind where it will not do damage, but they will require time for research and study.  In the meantime, if you know of any gods greater than ours, I suggest you call upon them.  They may be the child’s best hope.”

  
  
  
  
  



	11. My name is Solomon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sybok chooses a new name to start a new life. The family return to the hospital to collect Spock. Pretty much tooth rotting fluff.

T’Pau did not leave with the investigators, electing instead to stay until evening. She didn’t have much to say, spending her time reading documents written in Old High Vulcan on her own data pad. It had surprised Amanda at first that she even had a data pad, but then, Vulcan had been a high technology civilization since the time of the pyramids on Earth, so she figured she really shouldn’t be. Sarek slept, then meditated, then patiently allowed T’Pau to reassure herself that his mind was recovering from its earlier assault. Sybok also slept for several hours, tried to meditate, gave up and spent an hour or so drawing, so that when T’Pau called him back into her presence he was well smudged on his fingers and one cheek. She ordered him to wash up properly before returning, which he did without protest, then melded with him again as well before sending him back to his room.

She called Sarek and Amanda together in the sitting room. “I believe the link has been suppressed adequately, for the time being. However, there is a complication.”

“What is that?” Sarek asked.

“Due to the child’s augmentation, it is likely I will be unable to find a suitable bondmate for him. His mind is alien in pattern--dissimilar to any Vulcan I have encountered. I do not believe he would reject a bond with any sapient being, but most Vulcan minds would reject his. Given that, and the necessity of disclosing his link to the entity, I do not anticipate any family willing to risk a betrothal.”

Sarek tensed beside her. “Then we have saved him only to condemn him to death in his youth.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Your own bond gives me reason to hope. Amanda’s compatibility with your mind is more than luck. It is a consequence of her humanity. Humans’ mental gifts remain latent, but their minds are unusually flexible. I have now seen this phenomenon three times in close relationships between humans and Vulcans, enough to generalize. The pattern of the human mind shifts to accommodate the Vulcan companion, and the two become more compatible over time. I believe that in order to find a bondmate, your son should seek out a human, as you have done.” Well, that wasn’t at all what Amanda had expected to hear. It was almost praise.

“I will take my leave of you now.” She inclined her head to each of them in turn and left. Amanda was left wondering who the other two relationships were.

Amanda put together dinner for Sarek and Sybok while the two of them sat on the couch, conversing quietly. She stayed out of the way for the time being, hoping they would have a chance to become properly acquainted while she puttered in the kitchen. Her datapad chimed at the usual time. According to the message, Spock would be awakened early the next morning and would she and Sarek please present themselves to receive instructions in his care and take him home.

She acknowledged receipt of the message, confirmed their attendance, and informed them that Sybok would be accompanying them. When the baked casserole was finished, she walked over to where the two of them sat, Sarek studying a stack of Sybok’s drawings. “Sybok, would you help me lay the table?”

“Of course...mother.” He sounded like he was trying on the name, seeing how it felt in his mouth, and he had used the Federation Standard word, “mother” rather than ko-mekh. Sarek set down the stack of artwork and followed them both to the table.

Once he had set the table and taken his place at it, he folded his hands formally in front of him and said, “Father. Mother. I wish a new name. I do not wish to honor what I was made to be.”

“You have not been adopted into a new clan,” Sarek protested.

“I want a human name.” He looked at Amanda. “I want a Jewish name.”

Sarek steepled his hands in thought. “I would prefer you choose a name that follows the pattern of our clan.”

Amanda thought for a moment. “So, short and starting with an ‘s’ sound?” She smiled. “What about Samuel?”

“Isn’t he the boy who was sent away because his mother promised him to the temple before he was born?” Sybok said.

“Yes,” Amanda said. “You remembered that story.”

“I do not wish to be called Samuel. There was a King Solomon. He was known for his wisdom.”

“The name Solomon means peace,” Amanda supplied.

Sarek remained silent, dinner cooling on the table between them, for long seconds. “Solomon is slightly longer than I would prefer, but acceptable. You will be called Solomon.”

“S’chn T’gai Solomon Grayson,” the boy said. “It is acceptable. May I have some bread, mother?”

She used a pair of tongs to pass him a flat roll. “You may, Solomon.”

 

The boy was the first one out of bed in the morning. He wasn’t so undignified as to barge into their room, though Amanda had taken to wearing pajamas, just in case. He hadn’t made enough sound to wake her until he dropped his box of Lego, but she didn’t mind the sudden wakening. Today she was bringing Spock home. She found herself waking easily at that thought and slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Sarek, though he was plainly already awake and merely enjoying the chance to lie next to her as he hadn’t been able to for days.

He caught her arm as if to pull her back to bed and she sat back down next to him to play her fingers up and down his back, gently. “We need to get ready to pick up Spock,” she said.

He mumbled into the angle of his own elbow.

“Yes, I know, I’d like to spend some more time being lazy in bed, too, but we’d best not be late. I’d rather they not wake him before we arrive.”

“I will be satisfied to be away from the hospital for a while, after this,” he said. He stretched, stood, and gathered his daytime clothes before heading for the sonic shower.

Amanda gathered her own things. As much as she would like to surprise him in the shower, there wasn’t time...and there was Sybok...Solomon to consider. Which did raise a whole slew of other questions. Could they even be intimate in the same house with him? She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of inflicting their intimacy on a six year old secondhand--perhaps Eli and Birdie could take him for an afternoon along with Spock in exchange for her looking after Malkie and Lala.

Sarek was brazen enough to come out of the sonic shower naked, muttering some excuse about having forgotten his underclothing. Forgotten, Sarek, like he ever forgot anything. She admired the view for a moment, then took her turn in the shower and walked out as he had, with her clothes all still tucked under her arm. Two could play that game. “I need to apply my moisturizer,” she said archly, swaying her hips as she passed him. 

His hand ghosted over the curve of her bottom. “I missed you.”

She smoothed on her moisturizer right before his eyes, then put on her clothes a little more slowly and lasciviously than necessary, like a reverse strip tease. “Is there any way we can move Sy...Solomon’s room across town, just for tonight?”

“You exaggerate, my wife.”

“Only a little. Actually, I was thinking tonight should be family time, but I was going to see if the Lorenzes would take him for a sleepover tomorrow.”

“Do they understand the situation with him?”

“We had a long chat the first time Malkie came over to play.”

There was a tentative knock at the bedroom door. “I am dressed and groomed and I have eaten.”

“What did you have?” Amanda stepped into her shoes and sat in front of the vanity.

“The bread from dinner with the olive spread.”

“You may enter,” Sarek said. “I am assisting your mother with her hair.”

Amanda had already combed it out, but Sarek enjoyed playing with it, or rather, putting it up in old fashioned Vulcan hairstyles to honor the heritage of his clan. Solomon crawled up onto the bed to watch him braid and coil it. “Nothing too delicate,” she said. I don’t want to be worrying about it all day.”

He pulled the coils he had been braiding a little tighter so they would be more sturdy, selected a sheer scarf he knew to be one of her favorites, a yellow and peach watermark pattern that went well with the pair of gold combs he’d inserted as accents. She spread the scarf out a little more to keep more of the dust out of her hair as they traveled, but otherwise just patted her coif and smiled up at him. “You always make it look lovely.”

“It is beyond improvement by my simple efforts,” he replied, pretending modesty.

If Solomon had been a human child, he undoubtedly would have been making exaggerated gagging noises by now. As it was, he just perched neatly on the edge of the bed, a Mona Lisa smile playing across his lips. After a few seconds, basking in his newfound parents affection for each other ceased to be sufficiently interesting and he said, “Are we ready to go now?”

“Yes,” Amanda said. We are ready to go now.”

 

The groundcar ride was uneventful. They were let off at the main door to the hospital. Solomon held back. “I’m not allowed inside because I might bother the patients,” he said.

“I don’t remember anything about a Solomon Grayson being banned from the hospital, do you Sarek?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” She chalked his response up to typical Sarek sass before she remembered that he had not been present for Solomon’s meltdown a few days ago.

“We’ll talk later,” she told him.

The three of them were met in the lobby by one of Spock’s nurses and led back to his room. “The antagonist will be given at this time,” he said, pressing a hypospray to the baby barely visible in his bassinet.

Solomon squirmed out from behind Amanda to approach the bassinet, hanging onto its side and standing on his toes to get a first view of his baby brother. As the hypospray took effect, Spock took a deep breath, looked around at the faces in the room and screwed up his face for his “Why has no one picked me up yet?” wail.

Amanda reached over the side of the bassinet. “May I?” she said. At the nurse’s nod, she scooped Spock into her arms and cooed reassurance into one pointy little ear. She had not realized how much she missed the weight of his body molding into hers. He hiccuped and decided against crying for the moment.

“This way,” the nurse said, leading them out to one of the now familiar family rooms, where she took a seat next to Sarek on a couch. Solomon knelt primly on the floor at her feet where he could gaze at his brother’s tiny toes.

Sarek leaned over Amanda’s shoulder to brush one hand across his hair. “Hey, you had him all to yourself for a week. It’s my turn,” she told him. Spock blew a bubble at them.

They listened patiently as the nurse explained Spock’s new regimen of medications, his need for extra rest for the next few days, exhortations to report any concerning behavior immediately. The nurse turned to Solomon. “Spock will be fragile while he finishes healing. You must be cautious.”

“I understand. May I hold him?”

“If your parents do not object.”

Amanda nodded. “Up on the couch. I’ll stand.” She bundled Spock into his wrap to make a somewhat more manageable package of him. “How long do you think you can manage without…” she had forgotten the word. “Falling down?”

Solomon chewed his lip. “Fifteen seconds? Is it bad if we fall?”

“We’ll discuss that later, at home. He’s only been awake for a few minutes. Let’s try not to tire him out too much right now.”

Solomon held out his arms. Amanda lay Spock on his lap. “My name is Solomon,” he said. “I’m your brother.” He smiled broadly enough to scandalize the nurse when Spock waved his arms at him, then looked up at Amanda, eyes suddenly wide. “Take him back, take him back!”

Amanda scooped him back into her arms. Spock turned his head toward Solomon and reached toward him. “He likes you,” she told Solomon by way of reassurance.

“I know,” Solomon said shyly. “I am fond of him too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple people might have noticed from notes that I has been intending to rename Sybok Simon. And then recently I found out there's a comic that renames Spock Simon, and I decided to reduce confusion by selecting Solomon as a name instead. The etymology and the character would have probably appealed to Sybok more anyway. And Samuel, while a pleasant name to hear, was right out.
> 
> Series going on hiatus until April, when you may lookout for "Pinwheel" which is being timed with #redinstead.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't panic too much folks, this is AOS, the kid's not scheduled to die any time soon.


End file.
